One Plus One
by robspace54
Summary: The baby has been born and Louisa and Martin are trying to find out where they will go next. Will they have a life together?
1. Chapter 1

**One Plus One**

by robspace54

Orbits

Just knowing that things were going to be different did not change the fact that things were stressful. If anything, knowing it would be stressful made things even more stressful.

Doctor Martin Ellingham, GP, had quit his job and prepared to move to London imagining that he was able to return to surgery, his haemophobia having gone away.

I was under incredible stress knowing that he would not be here in Portwenn and I would most likely not see him often and was well aware I was to raise a child by myself, or so I thought.

Seeing the fat check he wrote for the baby's raising and the schedule of payments for the next eighteen years had to be the most non-romantic moment of my entire life. And as I stood in the school yard and looked down at my very pregnant belly, I knew in my heart of hearts that any chance of Martin and me being together, was finally and once and for all gone.

Right at that moment, as I helped Alicia shepherd the children inside the building from playtime, the baby inside me kicked and felt quite heavy. I wanted to turn and race, if that was possible in my pregnant state, back to Martin who was standing only feet away, throw my arms about him and keep him from going.

Well what would you have said Louisa? 'Don't go Martin' or 'I love you Martin' or just what? How about 'I've made a dreadful mess of things and I have to fix it! Will you help me?' might have worked. But no, I stupidly made my way into the school, trying to hide my tears from the students and Alicia. But Alicia could tell; the way she put a hand on my arm said it all.

But things have changed, in some ways I could not imagine. Giving birth in a pub was an experience I had not planned on. But it got sorted.

Just now the baby is crying, and my nipples leak milk each time I hear my son cry, plus every time I cough or sneeze I wet myself a little and I have to deal with other things too – namely Martin Ellingham. So things are a little tough to get through, but there are moments they are alright.

Leaking lactation, as Martin called it, is perfectly normal, especially with Philip only two weeks old, but the clinical explanation of how the hormone prolactin is produced in the pituitary gland and is mediated in the cerebral cortex along with … the lecture was long, involved and confusing. The fix is very practical – the wonderfully named nursing pads and a decent nursing bra.

The bottom line is called on demand nursing – meaning when Philip cries I feed him. I was now on the sofa, quite comfortable with Philip nursing away, and a hungry little bugger he is, while the other baby in the house fussed and fumed, giving me advice I neither needed nor wanted.

"Louisa! Is he getting enough air? And don't press his face so tightly against your breast – there have been any number of studies…"

I held up my left hand, the right one cradling Philip in position to nurse. Martin, luckily for him, understood the stop signal straight away.

"Martin," I said quietly, "do shut up."

He snapped his mouth shut and left the room.

So here we are; certainly not worse than before.

When I was pregnant, I was upset and worried as I didn't know how to break down the wall that Martin and I had built between us. Every time I thought I might make progress on that front there was Edith Montgomery with her ginger hair and green eyes, plus trim figure, like some wide eyed pixie witch, all possessively close to Martin.

Did she really want Martin because she once had him? Or was she was hell bent on making me out to be the poor little country bumpkin so she could whisk Martin off to the big city, where she could drag him into bed? Was it all a power play – that she could exercise more power than I – power over one man?

And safe to say that Martin has his own demons – rude and obstinate little buggers they were and are.

I looked down at the baby, half asleep, but still sucking away, bless him. I tried to make happy thoughts during these times, but one's mind does wander.

As for dragging Martin into bed, I was quite sure that Edith would have needed a winch and a heavy hawser to do so. He's not the smartest person in the world by far with people signals.

Martin is at times his own planet - no his own universe - spinning merrily away in space with his own physical laws orbiting some odd sun of his own making.

You too, Louisa Glasson, I told myself, have your own stubbornness and faults. Poor Danny Steele swept into town to help his mum, started working on her house, and tried, really tried hard, to get close to you. All those years ago in school, when he was more than a best friend, that was fine. But what he wanted wasn't at all what you wanted, was it, Louisa? He wanted you, didn't he?

But all you had eyes for was that tall doctor across the Portwenn harbour. And when Danny got that contract offer in London he didn't understand what made you tick at all now did he? It wasn't just about leaving Portwenn for London either.

As for planets, you too old girl, wish to be queen of your own little world. You can only see what you want to see at times. And what's that Louisa? Having second thoughts about this arrangement? That Martin and you would live together, but still orbit around in your own unique little solar systems?

Well, Martin needed somewhere to live, the surgery cottage now taken over by Dr. Exley, Portwenn's new GP. And you and he did have those precious moments, overlaid with the hot memories of labor, when you and Martin broke down your walls of isolation. Words that you should have said months before – all the way back to our wedding, which did not happen.

Martin still needs a job; the money won't last forever; and he's not made a move in that direction. And the summer break will come to an end early September, and you'll go back to work then, so what of Martin and little Philip then?

I hear Martin bustling about in the kitchen. We'd managed to move back into White Rose Cottage, my own, when Mr. Strain's lease was up. Poor man, after his recovery from his medically induced madness felt he couldn't return to Portwenn Primary School, and spent the next months writing a book, which has now found a publisher.

He told me the book's title 'Losing My Mind and Finding It' when he dropped off the cottage keys. His eyes shone as he told me of the huge interest of a really good publishing house. "Just think, Louisa, who'd have thought I could go mad and make money on it?" he chuckled as he walked to his car, a rather nice new Ford. "I'll send you a copy!" he called out as he drove away.

Having the keys in my hot little hand Bert and Al Large rapidly shuttled the contents of Mr. Rutledge's cottage to my own, only doors away. A busy day and one that held great promise. To have my own cottage back, granted it was in the same row and all, was a statement that I was home. I'd felt rootless for eight months but now I felt grounded – well at least I had my house back.

Aunty Joan Norton was with us on moving day to help. "Louisa, I hope you stay here a long time," she beamed that afternoon as she brought hampers of food to fill the fridge and pantry. "So nice to have you back in your own digs!" She then looked over at Martin, who was carrying a box upstairs. She tossed her head towards her nephew and dropped her voice. "How are… er… things between you and Martin?"

"Make way, Joan!" yelled out Bert Large. "Coming through with the sofa! Wouldn't want to knock you down the steps."

Al came along, "Watch out, Louisa and Joan, both of you! With dad in the lead he'd knock you right over and not notice."

"Now, Al, you know that's not true!" I answered.

Bert spoke up, "What Al says is true up to a point. There was one time…"

"Not now, dad. Save your story for later!" Al responded.

Joan moved aside as the sofa came back to its given spot, where it and I sit right now.

"Well, Joan, we're doing… ok." I answered her, probably not very convincingly as the furniture was placed.

Joan grimaced at me as I stood there cradling Philip. She spoke softly. "Just you remember that Marty needs course corrections once in a while. He's not as smart as he thinks; you know as well as I…"

The baby fussed just as Martin came downstairs. "Aunty Joan, Louisa, everything alright?" he asked. "The baby's fussing! Does he have colic? Does he need changing?"

"Fine, Martin, we're just fine," I answered one week ago. But it wasn't quite true.

I hear the oven door open as Martin pushes in the baking tray with tonight's dinner, fish of course, but I really could do with some red meat. I sighed, pulled Philip loose, burped him a little, then switched sides and settled him onto the left. He fussed a bit then settled down. I wish that Martin was as manageable.

Yet martin did manage to modify his behavior somewhat in the last two weeks. He was generally helpful, if a bit too much at times, like the advice about nursing. He was an excellent cook and there was no one else in Portwenn, I am certain, who could scrub a floor quite like him – very scientific, with unique solutions of soap, water temperature, and size and style of scrub brush and mop.

And although the nappy changing duty was bad for anyone, Martin wrinkled his nose and plunged in, all the while commenting on the softness of the nappies, the relative merits of talcum powder versus none, and inspecting poor little Philip's stools like some sort of scientific inquest.

Just now for instance he was not wearing a suit. One of the rare times I've seen him without one, at least with the lights on. Oh the trousers were from one of his many suits, but he wore no tie, the proper suit coat was in a wardrobe upstairs, and the light blue shirt was less than freshly pressed. His shoes were sparklingly polished - he could make leather brilliant after a session with buffing cloth and polish. If only he'd rub me that way… Louisa, now stop it!

Martin looked up from the electric cooker. "Louisa?" He stood there wearing ridiculous oven mitts on his hands – one a lobster and the other a large fish of some kind.

"Yes, Martin?"

"I was thinking that perhaps you'd want some beef occasionally. Probably good for you, especially post partum. Iron supplements aren't quite as efficient as natural sources. I could have the butcher…"

"That would be fine Martin. Good idea." Seems like we are on the same wavelength at the moment.

"Alright. Perhaps tomorrow."

"Martin, come here, would you?"

He put down the kitchen mitts and came down into the living / eating area. "Yes, Louisa?"

"Bend down."

He dropped to one knee and I put my arm around his broad shoulders. I pressed my face against his but I didn't kiss it. He stayed motionless and I could smell his aftershave, a little perspiration, the smell of his shampoo, and the aroma of Doc Martin that I remember well.

Does having a baby make you more sensitive to smells? Certainly early in pregnancy the slightest 'off' scent could have me running for the loo. But just now I can tell the smell of everything in this room and more.

Martin kissed my forehead then bent down to kiss Philip. He looked up at me. "Thank you Louisa," he said softly, with his hand on Philip's tiny head, not quite as misshapen as at birth.

"Thank you, Martin? What ever for?"

He looked at the floor for a second then at me. "For my son and…"

"And?"

"For taking me back."

Two planets in space spinning madly about their own suns – now linked by this little rocket ship still nursing away.


	2. Chapter 2

Revisions

The days are pretty boring in a way - feeding the baby, bathing the baby, burping the baby, changing the baby, trying to sleep while the baby sleeps, and so on and so on. After a week of this in the cottage with Martin and I thought I'd go Bodmin. Having Martin underfoot was no cake walk either, not that I don't need help.

I must have been absolutely mad to think I could have done all this – baby stuff – by myself. There come's a time in every parent's life, especially a mum's life, that you want to run away and never stop. Except for a couple things; such as knowing that this little life depends on you. Granted baby formula can be used to supplement breast milk, but when you just have to have five straight uninterrupted hours of sleep, that's when a husband, mother, partner, or neighbor comes in awfully handy. But what about boyfriends?

I look at him, sitting across the breakfast table. I'm bleary, Philip didn't nurse or sleep well last night, and therefore I feel like a lorry's run me over. "So, Martin, what are you?"

"What?" he answers. He's still in pyjamas, most unusual for him, stirring coffee.

The smell of the coffee is driving me wild. I've had no coffee for a very long time and I could use some now. "Martin, I know what you are – I mean what are we?"

He looks at me with that hard look of his. "We're, erh, parents."

I cross my arms under my warm, heavy, and too full boobs, which are killing me, but Philip is _finally_ sleeping. I'll have to get out the awful breast pump soon or die. "Well, that's obvious, isn't it?" I put my hand on his. "I mean… what are _we_? You – me?"

"Louisa, I don't understand you. What are you saying?"

I hang my head then release his hand, stand and go round the table - there have been far too many tables between us - I scoot his chair away from the table a bit and sit on his lap.

"Oh." Martin says.

I look long and hard at his face. "Martin…" I begin, and then stop.

Martin puts his arms around me and I rest my tired head on his broad shoulder. "Louisa, what…"

"Shush, Martin, don't speak. We're good at that." I nestle there for a few minutes, and thankfully he does not speak. I hold his one arm against my formerly pregnant but not flat yet tummy and his warmth feels good. A bit chilly this morning, and the sun is barely up an hour. His pyjamas, ones I recognize from last year's abortive engagement, haven't changed at all – no fading – unlike the way we are around each other.

Finally Martin can't stand it any longer. "Louisa, I've made a decision."

"Oh? Just like that? Does this involve me?" I answer softly, but there's a fear that starts.

"Yes, it does. I, uh, we need to go somewhere today. This morning if possible."

"Alright. Give me a clue, please."

"It's here in the village. When do you think you and Philip will be ready?"

"Depends on when he wakes." At this magic signal Philip starts to cry

So I leave breakfast, feed Philip (thank God) then change him, while Martin showers.

He comes down the hall almost dressed from the spare bedroom, where he sleeps. "Oh." he says when he sees me still in my new pyjamas, the blue and white ones. "Still, nursing?" Martin's got a suit on of course, but his tie is still loose.

"Just finished." The baby lies in my arms with a little milk bubble on his mouth. He grunts a little and makes a poo. They say that breast feed baby stools don't smell – well they are wrong. Whoever wrote that must have been an eighty-year old man with a deficient sense of smell.

"Here, Martin." I hand him our stinky child and go to the loo. "My turn for a shower."

Thirty minutes later I'm clean and drying my hair. Martin is sitting in the rocker with the baby, a gift from Bert and Al. The electric dryer finally finishes and the silence falls. Martin holds Philip like he's made of glass – not standoffish – more like mechanically. I sigh at the sight.

I start to brush my hair. "What do you think? Should I wear it up, down, back… Where _are_ we going?"

"Down. Out." I get for an answer.

"What?"

"Wear it down. We're going out."

Thirty minutes later we're standing at the front door, while Martin struggles with the pram. It's convertible from pram to stroller, and has more levers and latches than I don't know what.

Martin shakes it from the folded state, pulls and tugs, wiggles, and finally it pops into some sort of shape. But it's not quite right.

I sigh. "Here." I hand him the baby. With a few flips of levers the wheels lock, handles extend, the cover flips up and it's done. "There! Not that hard."

Martin curls his lip. "Bloody thing must have been designed by a mad scientist or renegade aircraft landing gear designer! Must be a better way!"

"Well it'll work for our son. Give." I settle the baby, stuff the giant accessory bag into the basket beneath and I think we're ready. The bag holds too many items, spare nappies, clothing, a blanket, two bottles of my milk, a cute little hat, and so on.

"Forgot anything?" Martin asks me.

I look into the bag and flip through the pile. "No, don't think so."

He looks back. "Yes, you did, the kitchen sink."

The door opens and the early morning sun feels good. Fresh air and sun. A perfect Cornwall summer morning.

It's around nine o'clock but the streets seem empty this weekday. I expect tourists are still eating breakfast in B&Bs and hotels, but the fishing fleet is away to get today's catch. One thing Portwenn does not lack is fresh seafood. But I'm craving that beef that Martin talked about yesterday. Some people pass us, don't recognize them must be visitors, but they all smile at the three of us – Martin, Philip in the pram, and me.

I'm wearing a fairly new green sundress I bought this spring, larger than I'd normally wear of course, which means the bust is too tight - hormones of course - and the waist is too loose – no pregnant belly. I'd added a cardigan to cover the bare arms, and I think I look nice. I'm pleased how things have progressed physically. I didn't gain too much weight with Philip, he was about three weeks early, which helped but my back aches, my feet seem wider than they used to be, my cheeks and neck are full, and so on down the long list of post reproduction temporary changes. That is I hope most are temporary but some I might elect to keep, if given the chance – such as very silky hair.

Martin doesn't say much of anything just guides me and the pram up the street over four streets and I'm uncertain where we're off to. Then I see the sign in the window and the saggy door is pushed open by Martin.

"Here?" I ask.

"Yes, I'll get Philip." He undoes the safety strap and picks up our sleeping boy. Funny how at times he's a baby, other times Philip, and this time, our boy. Little guy barely weighs 3 and a bit kilograms so Martin carries him with ease like a kitten or a bottle of wine – not that he likes either.

We go into the narrow room across the creaky threshold past an unoccupied wooden desk. There's a man at a rear desk, though, John Statler, and he jumps up. "Martin and Louisa! So nice to see you. And you brought the baby, as well!"

Martin shakes his hand. "I believe you know Miss Glasson, and this is our son, Philip."

"Louisa – oh he's beautiful!" John beams at Philip. "And you look wonderful too my dear!"

In this office it's proper that he's not the baby - but a person with a name - Philip Nolan Ellingham. I smile at Mr. Statler the village solicitor, and I really wonder what we're doing here.

"Martin?" I ask, but he scoots a chair under my legs and I sit. Very nice that John's complimented the baby and me too. I say so.

"Of course, Louisa. Every new mother is beautiful and every baby too!" John Statler turns his attention now to Martin who sits there like a statue with Philip in his large hands. "So, Doctor Ellingham, how can I help you this day?"

"I want to make known the revisions to my will, John." Martin begins. "Seems fitting to do so, after the changes I had you make last week."

Changes? Will? I look at Martin in wonder. "Do you really…" I say.

"Louisa, please shush."

The nicest way Martin has ever told me to shut up and it doesn't hurt at all.

Martin continued, but clears his throat first. "Louisa, my previous will had made certain provisions in the event of my untimely death."

John laughs. "All death is untimely, isn't it? For if we knew… well, never mind. Well yes, of course, let me just get my copies from the files. So sorry, my secretary is down with a cold today, so give me a moment to fish them out." He got up and went into a back room, and I hear the snicking of locks and a banging of a file drawer.

"Martin? Is this really what you want to…"

He takes my hand. "Yes, Louisa, it is. Here comes John."

Mr. Statler sat down. "Here it is. A copy for both of you."

He put papers on the desk and I pick one up. It was filled with legal language, but at the top it said 'Last Will and Testament of Martin Carl Ellingham, M.D.' "Martin? This is…?

"Let me explain, Miss Glasson," John started, suddenly formal. "This is Martin's will. He changed the one he made last year."

"What did it say last year?"

"Well it named your child as his legal heir, and if Martin dies, the estate would be held in trust until the child is twenty-one years of age. The executor is Joan Norton until she dies, and the trusteeship falls to the then legal solicitor of record."

"So you're making Philip your heir?" I shouldn't be shocked but I am.

"Yes," Martin replied and sat there looking rather pained.

"But Doctor Ellingham has changed that will." John went on. "You should be aware of those changes."

"And they are?"

"Philip Nolan Ellingham, your's and Martin's son, is Doctor Ellingham's legal heir, so named on this document, except you are now the executor, as of this date."

"Me? But Martin…"

He grabbed my hand. "Louisa, I… had to provide for any eventuality… in case…"

Statler barged on. "There are also bequests in regard to Joan Norton if Martin would predecease her and to you as well."

"Me?"

"Yes, Louisa, you." John smiles at me so this can't be too painful.

"They are?"

Martin cleared his throat, dropped my hand for an instant but then snatched it back. His hand was sweaty and mine was cold.

John Statler droned on. "You would receive one-fourth of Martin's estate, if he dies before you, the rest to Philip and to Joan, and so forth. Plus there are a few other small bequests regarding local …"

John continued but I didn't really hear his words. I turned to Martin, sitting there so stiffly on the wooden chair, and I could only let my mouth fall open like a fool, holding his sweaty hand in my cold one.


	3. Chapter 3

Three Ghosts

The trip to John Statler was a shocker. I suppose that somewhere in my head I might have thought about wills and such, but with everything that's happened still in a whirlwind, there was no room in my skull.

The outing was fairly brief, I needed to have a wee and was still very tired, Philip was getting fussy, and I really didn't want him exposed to too many people just yet. Need to have our baby get more antibodies through nursing, or so Martin has told me in intricate detail, until he's four weeks old.

By a little after ten we were back, having taken the long way around to enjoy the freedom of the baby cave called White Rose Cottage. Martin managed to fold the pram and put it in the front room, while I changed Philip, and after a short burst of feeding get him to sleep. Sleep was good, but if he sleeps too much during the day, we'll all be up at night. And I didn't want a repeat of last night.

So baby in the carrier downstairs, I parked myself on the sofa and Martin quietly puttered about. I dozed off for a while, and then came a dream about a fire bell ringing, so I woke with a start, realizing it was Martin's mobile.

He scooped it off the table, flipped it open and answered. "Ellingham."

Martin listened briefly. "Ah."

He stood and went towards the terrace, but stopped at the door. "No." he said. Another few seconds, and "No," he repeated. I wondered what the monosyllabic conversation was all about, but when he started to get that confrontational stance of head, shoulders, neck and back, I feared it was serious.

A longer pause and he seemed to listen intently. Finally, with the mobile still firmly clamped to his ear he turned and looked at me, full on. "No! You didn't?" he said and flung his free arm about.

I feared this was really bad but wondered what all the negatives were about.

"Listen very carefully. I'll not repeat it," he said softly, but the body language he was giving off was very scary. "No. Not at all. No. Listen to m…"

A much longer pause, then he said. "NO! Not interested!" He snapped the phone shut then turned toward the glass doors that frame the view of Portwenn.

I had to find out. "Martin?" He didn't answer me and I feared, well, I don't know quite what I feared. I got up from the couch and went to him, where I could now see his back was quivering. "Martin, dear?"

That did it.

He turned towards me and he had the most awful look. Sadness, fear, disgust - I don't know what I saw in his eyes and the set of his cheeks and jaw, the lips clamped hard together.

"Martin, who was it?"

He carefully put down the mobile, and I could see he was trying very hard to control himself. He took a deep breath and said very smoothly. "That was Edith Montgomery."

I tried not to fall down. "And she wanted… what?"

He took another giant breath and blew it out. "She asked me to come to London, started in on how she'd be glad to work with me on the haemophobia again. How she'd talked to the people at Imperial Hospital and had made apologies for me. How she had a wonderful bed-sit and didn't I want to come share it?"

I could only get out one word. "Oh." I went to the sofa and sat, pulling an afghan over my legs as I curled up. When dad lost big on the ponies, and I was around ten or so, this is how I'd spend the whole day.

Martin stood there glaring at me, then he relaxed, took three swift steps to the couch and fell to his knees in front of it. "Louisa, listen…"

But before he could say more, the front door flew open and Aunty Joan came in, all sunshine and roses. "Hello all!" she called. "How are my favorite people doing this morning, hmm?"

Martin jumped to his feet. "Fine."

"And how's my little Philip today," she whispered. "Feeding well, sleeping?"

"Well, Joan, not so great last night and but he's finally sleeping now." I managed to mutter.

Martin stood there at a loss, and I sat like a lump, trying to be invisible.

"Well, what say you young people go out the terrace. Right? I'll watch my great-nephew as long as you need me to." She smiled at us. "Go, on, shoo."

I cocked my head at Martin and he followed me out. I went to the railing and Martin stood there as well, right next to me, but we might have been thousands of miles apart. We didn't say anything - not a sound. Made no motion either. I tried to focus on the waves below, but all I could see was that red-haired witch, her condescending smile present each time she saw me and my pregnant body.

Martin sighed and pressed the railing with his great hands, and I swear I could see the wood compress. "Louisa," he started to say, "I want you to know…"

Joan barged in. "Oh, and here I brought you your mail. Postman Dave was just at the door as I came in." She dropped a magazine, bills, and a package into my hands. When could we have a decent five minutes to talk, just talk?

Joan turned to go but stopped. "And by the way, I want you to know that I am so grateful that you thought of my poor Philip when you named your little boy. He would have been so proud. Everyone in the village knows who he's named for!" she threw her arms about us and hugged both. "And Louisa, giving him your grandfather's name as a middle one was super. Love you both so much!" Her whole body was joyful as she said this. "I'm sure that both of those gentlemen, where ever they may be resting, are smiling at your little baby!" She kissed us then bustled back inside.

"Ah," began Martin, "what I was trying to say was that…"

I could only think of fire and flames when Edith came to mind. The kinds of flames that I wished… that's not fair, Louisa, I thought. You told Martin he had no responsibility for the baby. Didn't you? You said 'I'll take care of it.' Edith was right there too. So what was she supposed to think or Martin either?

"Louisa?" Martin was trying to get my attention but my face went down, and I could only stare at the address on the package. I recognized the hand behind the shapes of those strongly printed letters. "My God!" I said, "It's from Danny!"

I ripped it open as Martin spluttered. "Danny? Danny Steele?"

"Yes, Martin. How many Danny Steeles do I know?" The wrappings tore under my eager hands to see a yellow set of baby clothes and a note. I fell on the letter and read it quickly. It said:

'_Dear Lou,_

_Mum told me you'd had your baby, she's been giving me updates once in a while._

_I saw this outfit in a store window and had to guess at the size. Hope it fits!_

_Congratulations and hope that you and baby Glasson, or should I say Ellingham(?), are well._

_All the best and may God bless you and your little boy._

_Love, Danny_

_p.s. Say hello to the Doc for me!'_

"Isn't that sweet?" I exclaimed. I held up the tiny clothes, a jumper with hat and socks, which looked like it might fit Philip in a few months, if not longer. I rubbed the fabric. "So soft too. Feel it, Martin."

"Great."

"Well isn't that nice of him, don't you think?"

"Swell."

His tone hit me square like an arrow. "Oh, you don't think he thought…"

"Louisa, I don't know what to think, now do I?"

The anger flared and my face grew hot. Through clenched teeth, with the closest thing to a real mother-in-law just inside the house, and not wanting to upset her or wake Philip I started in on him. "Well, you listen to me Martin Bloody Ellingham, at least he didn't call me on the phone and try to seduce me cross country into a cozy little bed-sit overlooking Big Ben, now did he?" I hissed.

Martin blew warm air through his nose like a maddened bull. "Louisa…" he started and then he stopped. He got a look like he was trying to eat broken glass or something and turned away.

Oh, no, not again. "Martin, Martin, I'm sorry. Really. I don't love Danny Steele, well I might have once, but I was twelve years old, and we never even played doctor! That's gone – never happened. The man…"

"Sent you a lovely baby present. I see that." He'd turned to face me, and how many times have we squared off like this? But Martin went on without sarcasm. "Erh, nice of him… you must send a thank-you note."

His response took the wind from my sails. "Yes… I'll do that."

Martin sighed. "Louisa, you have to believe me. Once and for all, I don't love Edith Montgomery, I probably never did. You just heard me say 'no' to her several times. Each time I told her '_no_' I was saying '_yes_' to you - to us."

"Oh, Martin!" I threw my arms about him, making my sore chest hurt.

Martin responded, giving me a kiss that took the top of my head off and lifted me straight into the air.

We were interrupted by the crying of a little voice just as I was running out of air. "Martin, someone is calling."

"Yes, Louisa, let's sort it shall we?"

"Yes… and Martin, let's let those ghosts lie in the ground where they belong."

"Well put, Louisa!"

And as we went to the house he put an arm around my waist.


	4. Chapter 4

Going Home

Martin was moping about the place tonight so I sent him out to get him out of my hair. He'd been scrabbling through a few of the few boxes the movers had managed to extract from the warehouse where most of his things landed, when he 'moved' to London. But since he stayed, he was trying to find something. Of course as is his way, as he got frustrated he started bashing things. None of that pleased me or Philip.

"For God's sake Martin, can you be a little quieter?"

"Louisa! I can't believe that I sent them a list of boxes to return, and instead of the books I wanted, I get pots and pans!"

"Well, you did label the boxes correctly, I suppose?"

"Yes, I did!"

"Martin, not so loud, not only will the neighbors complain but so will the baby. Quit it."

"Oh… yes, sorry. I'll just…"

"Go somewhere would you? Take a walk, or … no! Go to the Leisure Center for a swim or something. Please? Get some exercise."

He gently put the errant pots back into a box clearly marked books, went up to his room and returned with a small duffle. "I'll just, uhm, go then." He headed for the door.

"Forget something?"

He patted his jacket pocket. "I have my mobile, er, keys…"

"Me. Don't I get a kiss?"

"Yes." He awkwardly kissed me and Philip who was sleeping in my lap in that dead-to-the-world way that babies get sometimes.

"Bye." I called to his departing back. Martin's been all weird – well I guess since he was – well forever. He's bored. He's put out feelers and called Chris Parsons a number of times, to Wadebridge as well. But the word has gotten out, I suppose. No one will take him on.

The surgeon who can't stand the sight of blood became a GP and then quit that to go back to surgery, which he now can't do. I know how I would feel if I could not be a teacher or work in a school. Poor sod. Poor Doc Martin.

He was on his laptop the other day and I saw him playing FreeCell. That told me that he'd hit rock bottom. When I tried to question him, he rapidly closed the game and flipped up some on-line medical journal. Even to me, all things considered, he's private. In some ways more private than he ever was.

I only spent two nights in the hospital when Philip was born. They transported us to Truro to be checked out and Philip was fine, though he came two weeks early, and I was fine. So on the third day I expected that Joan Norton would show up, as she said she would, to take us home. Home being the rental cottage of Mr. Rutledge.

Martin had been practically sleeping in hospital those nights, bugging the nurses and the docs as well. He was constantly pressing them for information on me and the baby; tox screens, hematocrits, what ever those are, and on and on.

One of nurses commented on how wonderful it must be to have my own personal doc. I could only look at her dumb founded that anyone would think having Doctor Martin Ellingham about would be a good thing. The odd comments he made about Philip's head and my reply to my son 'Don't worry, you'll get used to him,' didn't exactly ring true.

Philip flings a little arm out of the blanket and I tuck it back in. Used to him? Almost all of Martin's possessions were cross country just then in a van or warehouse, and he was essentially living from his car or out of my hospital room.

It all came to a head the morning of my hospital checkout. Joan Norton arrived per our arrangement, as she'd agreed to help. She'd get me settled, and stay for a few days, her bed and breakfast lodgers understanding the change of plans. After all I'd just given birth to her great-nephew, the closest thing to a grand-child she'd have. And Joan is so sweet – somehow getting the better side of the gene pool in Martin's family - at least as far as temperament went.

Philip was bathed and fed, I was showered, and essentially ready to go, when the door burst open and Martin charged in carrying a clutch of foil balloons, a large teddy bear, and a massive load of flowers. He stood there awkwardly holding these items while I looked at him.

"Louisa!" he started, "have they checked you out yet? Ready to go home?" He spied my packed suitcase. "I see you're packed…"

"Yes, Martin, we are. Are those for someone?" I indicated the load he was carrying.

"Yes, for you… and the baby." He kissed me. "Here!" He pressed the flowers onto me.

"Well," it looked like he'd spent a lot of money. "I appreciate the flowers, Martin, and the bear, how cute!" But half the balloons said things like Happy Anniversary and Happy Retirement. Most of the rest were appropriate – birthday and baby boy. So Martin was half right.

"The erh, lady in the shop said that babies and mothers like bears."

"Yes, we do. Thank you." Then Joan came in.

"Ah, Martin, you're here. You can attach this baby seat to your Lexus." She handed him a large box. "So get to it!"

"Joan, I'm no bloody mechanic!"

Aunty Joan smiled at him. "Now you are. Go! Come back when you're done."

I could only laugh at the look on his face. I don't think he'd thought about transporting the baby. But he went and I'll give the man credit. He followed the instructions, so he's not a total git, just out of his depth at times.

Martin loaded me and Philip into the Lexus, in the back, well away from the airbags, and Joan took most of the other items, since Martin's trunk was full. During the ride, Martin kept sneaking glances in the rear mirror which he'd adjusted to look to the back seat. He kept asking if I was alright, was Philip ok, was he tolerating the ride, and so forth until I was ready to strangle him.

"Martin! He's a baby; he's not made of spun sugar - he's fine!"

"And you, you're fine?"

"Martin," I began as I tried to control myself, "considering I've had a stress filled pregnancy, two days ago gave birth in a pub on the moor, and have an absolute madman as the father of my child, yes I'm fine. Just fine!"

That shut him up for a few miles. "Louisa," he started, "erh, I was wondering, if you really need Aunty Joan to help out. She could mind the B and B, she needs the money, and well… I could…"

"You could what?"

"I could stay with you… if you want … you'll need help with the baby – erh, cooking and so on. Cleaning?" he says.

"But Martin, what about London?"

"Called them two days ago, said I couldn't do it."

"Just like that."

"Yes."

The car traveled a few minutes in silence while I thought very long and hard. Mostly questions.

Did I want Martin around? Did I want to live with him? Only God knew where our relationship would go. I'd promised Joan to let her help; well she still can. And Martin is a doc if anything would happen… don't know the new GP yet. He certainly treated me like crap the last three months. Yet wasn't I crying out for him when I most needed him? These were the sorts of thoughts I had on the drive.

I broke the quiet. "You called Imperial."

"I just told you Louisa, I… won't be, can't work, in London."

"I suppose you could stay at Joan's farm, oh, she has lodgers." Then it hit me. "God, Martin! You have no place to stay!"

His cropped hair head bobbed up and down. "Yes."

I chewed my lip then progressed to a finger nail. What did I want?

I wanted to go back a year and start over. What if I hadn't drunk all that wine with Martin? What If I'd stuck with Danny? What if Holly hadn't hurt her back or fallen on that milk bottle? What If I'd not gotten pregnant? What if I'd let Joan take me to my appointment – then no taxi crash – and no childbirth in a pub? Philip burbled a bit and I put my hand on his downy head.

Martin Ellingham is a lot of things. He's the father of my baby. He's intelligent and a great doctor, but he is rude, obstinate, and very hurt. And wasn't I hurt too? Damn it, I do love him, most times.

"Alright. You can move in." I don't exactly know why I said it.

"Fine."

At the cottage Martin unloaded the items from the truck, moved the many flowers inside, and tied the balloons to a lamp.

Joan settled Philip and me into a chair and looked at her nephew. "Martin, thanks for the help. You can go. Where are you staying? There's likely a nice room for you at a pub somewhere. There's that nice…"

I interrupted her. "Aunty Joan, Martin is staying with me."

He looked at me right then with so much devotion it brought tears to my eyes - probably just hormones. I was holding the baby right then, but I could feel the soreness of my hands where I'd gripped Martin's suit coat as the baby was born, preceded by my yelling and blubbering, 'I want Martin!'

I think I still do.

The front door opens and Martin walks in and his hair is wet. "Had a nice swim - two miles. Raining outside now. Everything alright?"

I look at the clock and an hour and a half has gone. "Yes, Martin. We're all fine."


	5. Chapter 5

Docs

I knew this would happen. It was only a matter of time and I feared the outcome. This was really scary.

Martin faced off across the living room with the new GP. His name was Exley, Ian Exley. He was young, about twenty eight, and his boyish looks, sandy hair, and blue eyes made him look all the younger.

His eager face shone as he looked at Martin. "So, tell me, Doctor Ellingham, why did you leave your practice?" he asked in a soft Scottish brogue.

Martin looked to the side at me as if to say 'Is this kid for real?' He cleared his throat. "I had my reasons."

"Reasons?"

"Personal – very personal."

"Ah, ok, then. But tell me, how did you find Pauline? Did she apply, how many candidates did you go through and so forth."

"Doctor Exley, it's safe to say that Pauline just walked in one day."

"Hm, well she has an interesting way to file patients. All by first name."

Martin ground his teeth. "It works, after a fashion."

"And I've found that these people have the most amazing stories, like Bert Large, he'll sit there and…"

"Waste your time. Yes."

I'd just put the lunch dishes away when there came the knock at the door. I saw this young man standing there, dressed in a short sleeve shirt, military stripe tie, and beige trousers.

"Hello!" he said as I opened the door. "I'm Doctor Exley, is Doctor Ellingham in? You must be Miss Glasson."

"Why yes I am. Come in, won't you? Martin, you have a visitor."

So there they sat, the young doctor all excited and enthusiastic. The other, grayer, quite put off, and terse in his comments. The young guy in quite casual attire and my Martin, all in a suit, tie with Windsor knot, polished shoes. Like night and day.

I sat as a referee might, or an arbiter at some testy sort of international meeting, trying to stop a war before it starts. But one side had no idea that the other side was already shooting.

Doctor Exley was telling tales. "So, there I was with three feet of ischemic bowel, and…"

Martin sat bolt upright. "If you'd have checked pulses on the descending artery…"

"Yes, that's exactly right! Wow! Martin, I mean Doctor Ellingham, it's very nice to talk with you. You probably know more about vascular cases than anyone I've met."

"Yes. I do." Martin's lip curled. "And after you thoroughly mucked about with this person's bowels, how did they do?"

Ian blushed. "Well, quite well actually, in fact, this lady, well girl, uhm, she and I became quite close for a while."

"I see."

I had to pour oil on the waters. "That's nice, and will she be joining you in Portwenn?

Doctor Exley's looks changed. "No." Now the boyish happy face was dark and brooding. "No, she stayed."

"Now in cases like that, an abdominal Doppler ultrasound would have helped you discern that there was adequate flow, and if not then you go in." Martin was totally oblivious to the other drama.

Martin's words seemed to bring Ian back from where ever he went. "Yes, you're right, but what if there was no ultrasound available?"

"Doctor Exley, you can't assume that you will have all this modern equipment. Here in Portwenn, you don't have that. I recommend that you read up on the acute abdomen. Palpation and listening for bowel sounds… but…"

"No go on! Please!" Ian leaned forward eagerly.

"I didn't want to lecture you. And we must be keeping you away from your patients. Don't stay on my account."

Doctor Exley looked at his watch. "Right you are. I'd best be off."

Martin put his hands on his knees and stood. "Thank you for coming by, doctor."

Doctor Exley looked at me. "And thank you Miss Glasson for your hospitality."

I smiled at him. "Good of you to come by."

"I'll see you in two weeks for the well-baby visit, then?"

"Of course."

"From the quick look I got he looks fine." He stood. "Thank you for the coffee. Doctor Ellingham, goodbye."

I walked the new GP to the door and closed it behind him. "He's awfully young isn't he?"

Martin looked at me. "Yes, he is."

"And so friendly, too."

"I know." Martin crossed his arms. "Are you saying I'm not friendly or young?"

"No! Not at all. Come on Martin, relax."

"Louisa, I can't relax when he has my job…" he turned away from me. "The one that I quit."

I shook my head and went to him. "It's alright, Martin. He doesn't have the experience…" I put my hand on his arm and rubbed it.

"Louisa! Doctor Exley is a fully qualified doctor, his credentials are spotless. I've spoken with one of his senior residents and he's very highly thought of. Top marks all across the board. I won't have you demeaning him – why you don't even know him!"

"Martin! I'm not saying anything, really! So calm down!"

Martin stood there looking at the front door. "Of course the silly sod totally destroyed a perfectly good meter of small bowel…"

"Martin you don't have to be friends with Doctor Exley."

"Friends?" He looked quite grim. "No, I won't be."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"That we'll be friends, Louisa?"

"No, Martin. That you'll be enemies." Philip began to fuss and I went to pick him up.

And as I settled down to feed the baby, Martin stood there with a puzzled look.


	6. Chapter 6

Contact Made

Mid-afternoon, while Martin was sitting on the terrace in the sun, he got a phone call which improved his mood. I heard his mobile ring as I was lying down on the sofa, not really sleeping, just dozing. The baby was being well behaved so I was having an afternoon rest.

Martin came in with the phone to his ear, and caught my eye. "Just a minute," he said into the phone. "Louisa, Parsons wishes me to come to a meeting this evening. Will that be alright?"

"Of course, Martin, but what's it about?"

He held up an index finger. "Yes," he said, "I'll meet you there at six? Right." He flipped the phone closed. "That was Chris Parsons and he wants me to meet some of the commissioners on a heath committee they're putting together. He's got a room at a restaurant near Truro."

"Thanks good news, isn't it?"

"I think so. Yes, it must be." He dropped onto the sofa. "This might… have to see, won't we?"

"What do they want you to do?"

"Chris didn't say. He danced around it. Sort of hush-hush."

Chris Parsons, head of the Truro PCT Hospital, is a very straight shooter; no rot from him. I think he's one of the few people that Martin actually respects, and respects him as well. "Why do you think he's keeping it quiet?"

"Don't know. Probably something with the Primary Care Trust."

I knew that there might be changes ahead from the National heath Service, as has been discussed many a day, but I didn't know what this opportunity might mean. "Is it a job, Martin?"

"Not yet. Might be."

"But you need…"

"Yes, a job, Louisa. Don't I know it!" He slapped the phone down on the coffee table and marched upstairs.

I sighed. Not another silent tantrum. Philip was still sleeping in the baby carrier, so I went after the man of the house. I found him in the spare bedroom, where he's slept since we moved back into my cottage.

Martin was sitting on the single bed, head in hands. I stood in the doorway and looked at Martin Ellingham, father of my son, one time fiancé, sometime surgeon and GP, and now out of work doctor, who was in obvious distress.

"Martin? It will get sorted."

He breathed deep and blew it out. "When, Louisa? When will it stop?"

"You said yourself, we'll have to wait."

"Louisa, if only…"

"Oh, no, don't you go playing this game too!"

"Game?"

"Yes, Martin, the game we've each been playing. At least I know I have. The game that starts, if only this, if only that, it doesn't change anything!" I hissed. "So don't you go all Bodmin; get all oogy on me."

"Oogy?"

"A word I just made up. It means… oogy!"

That made him smile. "Alright, so I'm… oogy?"

"Oogy means when you're all out of sorts." I sat on the bed, not too close to him, and made him look at me by taking his chin in hand. "You listen, my oogy Martin, this is oogy Louisa speaking. And I know a thing or two about being oogy. I spent the whole last year being that way."

"A whole year? Really."

"Well almost the whole year."

"Louisa, when did your 'oogy' feeling start?"

"I think that you know."

"Oh."

"Yes, when I handed you the letter…"

"And I was sitting in the surgery on our wedding day."

I think he did understand. "Yes, that's when it started."

He looked down at the floor. "Louisa, I have made a proper mess…"

"No." I put my hand on his mouth. "Stop."

"We've got to…"

"No we don't. We know what got us here. And I don't mean bloody Edith…"

"Or Danny Steele…" he grunted. "Who always called you Lou."

"Or our wedding we didn't have or my pregnancy either."

"So who are we blaming?"

"I don't care about blame, Martin Ellingham. It's just us. It's what we have to work with."

"How many times have we tried and failed?"

"Oh Martin! How many times have we succeeded?"

He pulled me close. "Not nearly enough."

We kissed and that's important. I didn't kiss him nor did he kiss me. We kissed each other, and if you don't know why that's important, Louisa, then you'd better go back to square one. It felt good to be close, in spite of all our upheavals - our baby, living in the same house (but not quite living together), the job thing, and all the other upsets too.

"Still oogy?" I asked him.

"I can't keep from thinking… but what if…"

"No! No buts, no ifs, or what ifs! Ok?"

"Ok." He squeezed me tighter and his hands wandered.

Ouch – sore boobs. "Not so tightly, please." His hands slackened a little. "Martin, before we start anything that my hormones are most definitely not prepared for, hadn't you better think about this meeting tonight?"

"You're correct as always, Louisa."

I shook my head. "No Martin. There's not much I've been very right about lately."

"That's not true."

"I don't feel like it."

"That's the hormone changes, lack of sleep, post partum, and the lack of intellectual stimulation."

"You're saying I'm a bit run down, sore, sleep deprived, and otherwise unsettled?"

"I suppose. Your way of putting it."

He was right and I just wanted to sit with our arms around each other. "Give me a kiss."

Martin did. "Louisa, about this meeting."

I looked at the clock on the nightstand. "Just be yourself."

"That's what I'm likely to do." He pried my hands away and pulled at his trousers as he stood. "I'd better get ready for it."

He shaved, put on more deodorant, and put on a freshly laundered shirt. I perched on the toilet and watched him as he got ready. I appreciated him being around, more than he knew, and I also liked the sight of his broad back and shoulders.

He picked up his tie and tied it for him, something I learned to do for my dad. "There, now you look all handsome."

"This meeting will run late and I'll be gone for a while."

"That's ok. Maybe I'll call over a friend."

"You do that, Louisa. Have someone come over while I'm gone."

"I'll do that. Are you ready, Martin?"

"I wish… I felt… more prepared."

I patted his back as we went down the stairs. "Martin, if you're not prepared, than all of Portwenn is in trouble."

"Your meaning being?"

I smiled as I took him to the door. "Go get 'em tiger." He wouldn't understand, but he'd think about it all the way to Truro.


	7. Chapter 7

Knowing

Trudy's just left along with Alicia and to be honest I'm glad they've gone. They brought dinner when they came, which was nice, roasted chicken, potatoes, sprouts along a nice salad. I've been eating plenty of veggies and fruits during the day. If I think about it, I've been eating better than I ever have these last months, all the way back to when it was obvious that I'd be a mum.

I'd left Portwenn for London, found an apartment to sub-let and there was that one night, well many days actually, where I'd not felt quite right – run down and that sort of thing. I was sorting out a box of old school stuff, lesson plans, papers, and there was a calendar in the bottom of the box; the calendar that used to hang on my cottage bedroom wall. I flipped through, smiling at the pictures of Italy on each page. I'd like to go there some day.

Then I got to the one month – the one I didn't think about, or try to remember. It was the month that Martin proposed, and I accepted. I blew out a breath as a range of ideas flashed in my head. Holly's accident, Martin proposing just after he'd saved Holly from dying, the ring, the weeks of hectic prep, finding the dress, and then that day - the day we didn't get married. I just knew that it was a bad idea. Martin all so, ugh!, at times. But my God the man is an enthusiastic lover, once he sets his mind to it.

I basked in that glow, felt my face flush and then looked at another date on that page. The one like all the rest with a little star in the box. I flipped page after page backwards – yes they were all there. But after? No stars, no marks. Must just be stress, Louisa. You're upset, I thought, the non-wedding, all that stress; yes stress is the answer.

It wasn't hard finding a long-term substitute job in London. So many schools, so many teachers and so many things going on in people's lives. The James Baird Primary School fit the bill. They hired me on the spot. Seems the teacher I was replacing was gone.

"Gone?" I'd asked.

"On leave," the administrator answered grimly.

"When are they coming back?" I'd dressed in my best semi-dressy suit, one I'd bought for the honeymoon. I might as well wear it.

"Not sure… you see… well, I don't know if I should say this…"

"Well, don't then." I answered.

The admin man grimaced. "Yes. Right. Can you start this Monday?"

So a few weeks later, the morning after my calendar staring contest, it was a Thursday, and I got off the Tube a stop early. There was a tube stop just a half mile down the road from the school near a chemist shop.

I crossed the street, dodging taxis and raindrops, and went to the back to the Reproduction Health aisle. Racks of things to stop contraception and maintain health as well personal massage tools (God!) and lubricant greeted me. There I found what I didn't want to buy, but thought I should, just to make sure it was stress – nothing more. I carried the pink and white box to the counter.

"Hello, dearie," the counter girl said. She picked up the box and pressed keys on the register. "Ah, want to find out, eh?"

I fished in my purse for money. "Yes, no, er… don't know." I guessed I blushed as I gave her a twenty.

"Sweety?" the woman's voice got soft. She took the cash and held my hand for a moment. "If it's a plus, it'll be alright! Things will work out!"

"Right." I didn't want to have this conversation with her - not with anyone.

I jammed the thing in my purse and marched to school. I'd forgotten my umbrella and tried to hurry as it was raining harder. The school was empty of students at this hour, just a few teachers about, none of which I knew at all, heading to classrooms and the lounge for coffee.

I dropped my wet raincoat and satchel at my classroom and went to the ladies toilet. In the stall the light wasn't very bright but I could read the instructions. I should really wait until I get home I thought, but I had to find out.

I pulled down my trousers, down with my pants, sat, and wee'd on the plastic handle per direction. Then sat the plastic thing on the metal box that crowned the TP holder.

I re-read the directions, squinting at the tiny print in the dimness. 'This test is not conclusive, and you should consult a health professional as certain medical conditions may imitate the chemicals in your body that pregnancy causes.' More legal blather followed. I read the instructions for use. The last was 'Place on a flat horizontal surface for one minute. A plus sign will appear if you are pregnant, a minus sign if you are not. Waiting longer than one minute may not provide a more accurate test result."

Who wrote these things? I know - doctors and lawyers were covering their silly arses.

I checked my watch – thirty seconds had passed. What if I am pregnant? God! Wouldn't that be a real pisser? What about Martin…? What about me? Forty-five seconds. Don't be a plus, don't be plus. Then a full minute came and I held my breath.

I was washing my hands as a teacher came in. Her name was Jaime Waters and she was nice. We've eaten lunch together a time or two and I like her. She's taught here for five years and was giving me the low down and the hot gossip, whether I needed it or not. Jaime was soft spoken, easy going, with a wicked sense of humor. I'd told her a little about some of the residents of Portwenn and she laughed at all my stories. I think we'll be friends in time.

"Louisa! Morning!" She went into the stall I'd just left. "Another rainy day!"

I'd managed to hold it together until then. As I heard the toilet flush that's when the tears came. I took a paper towel and was trying to dry my eyes quickly as the stall door opened.

"Louisa? My God, girl, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I sniffed. "Just a bit of a cold."

"Well you were just fine yesterday. Problem then?"

"No. Nothing." I put on my best face and tried to bull it through. "I'm fine." I lied, sniffling all the while.

"Alright then, if you say so." She stood next to me and caught my eye in the mirror. "Louisa, did you leave this behind?"

She was holding the pregnancy test handle with the dark plus sign clearly visible.


	8. Chapter 8

Me

That's when it all started. Jaime pushed me down the hall to the nurse's station, put me on the couch and then closed the door.

"Louisa, here drink," she said handing me a cup of water.

I didn't want it but I drank it anyway. I was staring at my wet shoes; down past my moderate chest, my flat belly, which some day, wouldn't be there at all.

Next Jaime pushed some tissues into my hand. She sighed as I blotted my face, blew my nose a few times and was generally weepy. No, more stunned. No, absolutely crushed.

She sat next to me on the lumpy couch, put her arm about me and patted my shoulder.

This should be the most wonderful moment, I thought. I'd fantasized about it. How my husband and I would be sitting on a bed and waiting for the test to be positive. We'd be holding hands and when it signaled I was pregnant, we'd be happy, a bit rattled too, but happy. And this would have been after a year or more of marriage, when we'd gotten used to each other – likes and dislikes – coffee or tea – toast dry or with jam. All that little stuff we would have figured out, but when we saw the positive test, then we'd kiss and probably more; celebrating what we'd accomplished.

Instead I was sobbing into Jaime's scratchy cardigan on a rainy morning in a windowless room in a dirty London primary school.

"Louisa? This wasn't planned, I take it."

I could only shake my head and hiccup.

"Does he, erh, know?"

Another shake.

"Do you want him to know?"

I lifted my eyes from the floor and looked her in the eye. "Don't know," I managed to get out.

Jaime looked at her watch. "I'm going to the office and I'll tell them you're unable to teach today, right?" She stood and said. "Just stay here, Louisa. Don't move."

In an odd way it was nice to have someone command me, so I followed her instructions. She went down the hall and I lay down, on my side, melodramatically putting a hand on my belly. I thought back over the past months. Five weeks from the engagement to the wedding, then four weeks of knocking about Portwenn while I ground my teeth every waking moment, and sobbing each night. And behind every face I saw in town there was disappointment, mistrust, and doubt.

I knew what they were thinking. How my dad was a thief and I was not much better and how all the Glassons were just no good, rotten all of them. Her mum ran off when she was ten years old, her dad stole from the Lifeboat Fund, and Louisa Glasson our very own Portwenn head-teacher was not to be trusted. How she'd probably led Doc Martin on, how she probably still pined for Danny Steele, and after all that what were her morals? Slept with and loved old Doc up, then she pulled up stakes. Just ran out.

So I did what was expected of me. I called the Superintendent, told him I was quitting and going to London. He rapidly found Mr. Strain to take over on a temporary basis, or so he thought. The Super also arranged for Strain to lease my cottage, I had the haulers pack most of my things and take them to warehousing, and I was done. I ran out.

So nine weeks to the day after Martin proposed I left with one suitcase and my laptop. I stored my car at Joan's farm, making her swear on her father's grave that she'd tell no one in advance.

She drove me to the train station with a stoic face. As she braked her truck at the train station, she tried to look positive, for me. "Louisa, I am sorry that it's come to this."

I could only look at the brick building, the tracks beyond and give her the best answer I could muster. "Me too."

She made me promise I'd call, let her know how I was faring, all the usual things that we say when we part. As she walked me into the station, I felt like I was crossing some great chasm. Joan stood there with a long face.

I tried to smile at her. "Joan, it's for the best."

"No, Louisa, it's not. But if you need to go, then go." Her mouth quivered and I saw her eyes well up. "Louisa, is there anything I can do for you? I don't have much money…"

"Oh, Joan, I don't need money." Which wasn't true. But I didn't know what else I could do.

"Oh, sweetheart," she took my hands, "if I could mend this…"

"I know, Joan Norton. You are a good and kind lady."

Joan smiled through her tears. "Well, Louisa, you'll do fine. London had better watch out!"

Unspoken was what should have been said. I think right then if Joan had grabbed my shoulders, spun me about and marched back to the truck and to town I'd have stayed.

Some say that the Fates are unkind. Maybe not unkind – but they certainly lay out any number of paths before us. I think that Bert Large, plumber, lately restaurant owner, and village philosopher, told me that once as he unclogged a drain at my cottage.

"The thing is, Louisa, is to know when to go and when to stay put."

"How can I tell, Bert?"

He laughed and his double chin jiggled. "Louisa, if I knew that would I be underneath this leaky sink of yours waiting for Al to come back with the right pipe fitting?"

Not two weeks after the train ride I was laying on my side with a hand on my belly wondering what I'd do. Now how did this happen, Louisa? Silly girl of course you know how it happens. The words to the old song 'when a man meets a woman' popped to my head. Well this is what slap and tickle will get you.

That's how. Not that Martin was to blame. We'd used precautions. I think this is what the more technical magazines would call a 'contraceptive failure.' In other words I was preggers, knocked up, p – r – e – g – n – a – n – t, and all other sorts of things. As well as stupid and thick, along with being gob smacked.

I continued to add the weeks. About four and another four, plus two… God, I must be ten weeks pregnant! Then I cataloged other things – tired all the time, my chest was a bit tender, plus feeling a little off when eating, especially the last few mornings.

The door opened and Jaime came back with the school nurse, still in her raincoat and cap. "Not feeling well today, are we Miss Glasson?" the nurse asked. Her gray hair flared out from under the nurse's cap like a kite.

A million answers went through my head. Should I tell these two women whom I barely knew? Jaime was almost a friend, but I wasn't sure I'd could talk, really talk to her, just yet. The nurse was a total nonentity to me – just a nurse. I felt that Jaime, though, would keep quiet.

And there was this odd under-current in the school about Mr. Holden, whom I'd replaced. Sort of an unspoken agreement not to talk about the man, the teacher I'd replaced. But there were glances and odd facial expressions when his name came up in conferences or even by the kids when I asked where he'd left things in their books.

"This chapter or that one?" I asked them once in class.

One boy sang out, "Mr. Holden, he couldn't make up his mind!" and most of the children fell into laughter, but a few looked away, clearly upset.

No this school didn't like things to be amiss. I levered myself upright on the plastic covered couch.

"I'm just not feeling well," I answered. And thank God Jaime just looked past me to the wall, and wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Well then you should go home," said the nurse. "Who will take you home?" She asked.

I blew my nose and with vigor I did not know I threw the soggy tissue straight into the bin. "Me, just me." So I did.


	9. Chapter 9

Validation

That rainy Friday morning, that is the trip to the apartment, changed me. It wasn't only because of the plus sign on the pregnancy test.

So I had the day off. Now what to do with it? First step – doctor's appointment. The directory at the school gave me a list in the area. I ran my finger down the list, some twenty names, and picked one.

I dialed on my mobile and a woman answered. "Central London West." Her voice had the terse sound of someone I knew in Portwenn.

And the greeting sounded to me more like a geography class than a doctor. "Is this Doctor Moore's Office?"

"Yes."

So informative. "I'm calling for an appointment, I've just taken…"

"Wait." The voice went away and I was listening to the _Moonlight Sonata_ played by about a million violins.

Then came a click in my ear. "Hello! This is Billie in scheduling!" This woman sounded much happier.

"Hello, Billie, my name is Louisa Glasson and I need an appointment."

"Well of course you do? When would you like?"

I looked around the school entry but no one was around, luckily all the students were at first bell. "Erh… I've just taken a pregnancy test and… it's…"

"And it's positive? Marvelous! Well dear, how about today?"

"Today – well alright."

"How does nine forty five sound for you? Just had a cancellation. I can fit you right into our sked."

"Ok." I confirmed the address and flipped the phone closed. I dropped it into my purse and found the Admin head, Mr. Prange, looking at me from across the hall.

"I hope you feel better, Miss Glasson. Take care out there, it's another nasty day." He hooked a thumb at the rain on the window.

"Yes, I will. Thank you."

He rushed over and opened the front door for me. "Allow me."

This nearly total stranger, my boss, got the singular honor - unbeknownst to him - open a door for the very first time for the pregnant Louisa Glasson.

"Thank you, Mr. Prange."

"My honor."

I stepped out and the door snicked shut behind me and Mr. Prange gave a half-hearted wave through the frosted panes.

Feeling very different I walked to the Tube. The rain had started to slacken and the hood of my coat kept most of my hair dry, at least the back. By the time I got to the station stairs it was almost not raining. On the train, swaying back and forth, I found the motion comforting, even exciting. At one of the stops, a lady got on who was perhaps six months pregnant. I stood and gave her my seat on the crowded train.

She looked up at me after settling herself on the molded seat. "Thanks a lot." She said, as she tugged her coat around her, which of course, was short at the waist by a mile.

"My pleasure." It seemed only fair to help her. I rocked along with a half smile on my face. Four stops on I made to get off.

Right then the seated woman looked up at me. "What you smiling at? Me?"

I turned to the door, stopped and bent to her face. "I'm pregnant too."

Her look changed to a smile. "Best of luck." I heard as I whirled off the train.

It didn't make sense to go all the way to the apartment, waste forty five minutes there, then turn about and come halfway back to the doctor. So I left the station, traveled a few blocks in the now scattered sunshine, and passed the doctor's office in a large brick and concrete building with a new glass facade. Having found the office, I now had time to kill. A café a block over fit the bill.

I settled inside the nearly empty place, most of the commuter crush now in offices and shops around. They'd closed most of the dining area for a cleaning so I found myself perched at a tiny table, just large enough for a coffee cup, and a scone or two. There were only six of us customers so I catalogued them.

Two solicitors in expensive suits with laptops open on a large table discussed some contract case. They were in the thick of the discussion and the rest of the world did not exist for them.

There was a woman of middle age staring at her mobile like it would bite her – must be an off putting text message. She scowled at the tiny screen, then flipped out the mobile's keyboard and started typing away; probably telling off the boss, landlady, or husband from the frantic energy that she put in to it.

A twenty-something girl in a slinky short dress sat to the side nursing a cup of coffee, her sheer tight-clad legs stretched to the seat across, her makeup smudged and blotchy and hair a bit askew. Shoes that looked great but were likely torture to walk in lay on the floor. Looked like the weekend started early for her; the infamous walk of shame.

Another man, in his late thirties was reading the _Times_, put down his paper and checked me out as I sat down. I knew the look – the speculation. He's wondering where I came from, does she work nearby, haven't seen her before, that sort of thing.

I put the raincoat on the chair took purse and went to the counter. I picked up a scone, some jam in tiny packets and then started to ask the counter man for a beverage. "Hello! Could I please have a coffee with…?" I stopped. "No make that orange juice, please, large one?"

"Out of orange just now, love, how about apple or cranberry?"

"Apple." I paid him and returned to my table.

I unscrewed the top and was taking a drink when the young guy addressed me. "Off the coffee? I heard you, change the order."

I looked him up and down. Dressed nice - dark shirt and trousers, white tie, and leather jacket - topped by wire rimmed glasses in front of blue eyes and dark hair. He wore a wedding ring on his left hand along with one of those massive watches some men go for.

"Yes, just thought, well… maybe shouldn't have any today."

"Yeah," he looked into his cup. "Not very good anyway. Good choice – the juice I mean."

"Yes." I didn't know where this was going, so turned away.

But he went on. "Sorry to intrude, but you look so much like my wife it's scary."

"Oh, really?" Getting odder.

"Here let me show you." He took a wallet and dug through it. He held out a picture. "See?"

The wallet sized photo showed a woman who did look a lot like me, holding a little girl baby. Same hair and eyes, a bit plumper perhaps, but we could be sisters, if I had a sister.

"This is Janine three years ago when Rosie was six months old."

"She does look like me. Thanks, I wasn't certain what…"

"That's ok. I just had to remark, is all." He stared at the picture then put it away. "They're back home in Manchester. Just down here for meetings for a few days."

"Cute baby."

"Thank you. Ah, it will be great to be home! Janine is expecting our second, due in a few weeks too. I hated to leave her right now."

I nodded. "I'm sure she understands, as long as you're there when the baby comes."

"Yeah. Sure." He said it like he didn't mean it. "It's a boy too; just what we wanted."

I took a deep breath before I said, "She's lucky she's got you. I mean, having a hubby and the kids and all."

"Yeah, that's what she says too!" He looked at his half-kilogram watch. "Best be going. I'm David by the way."

"I'm Louisa."

"Very nice chatting with you."

"The same."

He gave me a big smile. "It's still amazing that you look so much like my wife." He shook my hand. "See you."

David left but I basked in his remembered look and it felt very nice. I ate my scone and drank the juice as the sunlight got brighter outside. I had plenty of time so I sat there, because I felt warm and cozy.


	10. Chapter 10

Confirming

Martin was still gone to Truro, so I bathed Philip, played with him a while, then fed him, changed him, and put him to bed. All the while I was partly replaying my time in London; a certain Friday morning.

"Alright, Miss Glasson, I'll have you give a urine sample, we'll take some blood, et cetera then the doctor will do a physical exam. Yes?" The nurse was a petite woman, with fine features framed by blond hair on tanned skin. Her hazel eyes looked at me intently. "And you are otherwise healthy, feeling fit?" She'd already taken my blood pressure, heart rate, and temperature plus height and weight and basic dimensions.

"Other than the things I mentioned I'm ok. But missing my period for two months, feeling a bit queasy and the erh, nipple soreness, those are different."

She picked up a sample cup. "Ok. Any frequency of urination? Here. The water closet is just here. Leave the sample, in there please. There's a little shelf."

"Not that I'd noticed." I took the cup into the loo and did as she asked. Now that the nurse mentioned it, perhaps I had been weeing a bit more often. Louisa, this is going way too far. But haven't you convinced yourself this is true - no dreaming? Otherwise why would you be here? That little voice just kept going. There was a Greek chorus of 'you are preggars' in the background which would fade and then come back.

The blood samples were taken, put into a rack and taken away, along with urine for testing (second time today) then the doctor came in.

Dr. Moore, GP, first name Samantha, was younger than me but listened carefully as I ran down my heath history. No family major history of any illness, unless you count gambling and a bolting mum as illnesses.

I explained what brought me to her that Friday. By the time I got to the important stuff (took a preg test and it was positive) it seemed like an anti-climax. The skimpy gown gave me no coverage at all, of course, but what did I expect as she did an abdominal and pelvic exam?

She spent a fair amount of time poking around my lower belly. Once or twice she said, "Ah," like it meant something.

Dr. Moore was thorough and I felt calm as she finished. There was a knock at the door and the nurse came in with a clipboard. "Test results look…" she started as she read the sheet, "not remarkable."

Not remarkable? What the hell was she talking about? Maybe I should have picked a doctor at either end of that list and not in the middle?

She stripped off her gloves and sent them to the bin. "Get dressed; be back in a moment."

I got dressed feeling a fool. Had I followed the early pregnancy test instructions? I was shoving my feet into my still damp flats when there came a rap on the door. "Come in," I called.

Dr. Moore came in and sat at her little desk and entered some more checkmarks, words, and sentences into the laptop there. "Ok." She began. "Everything looks quite correct."

"Correct?" I'd managed to say, as I felt the blood come to my face. "You must be joking!"

"Me, joke? I suppose you don't know that _real doctors_ never joke, at least not to patients."

"Dr. Moore, believe me, I do know a very real doctor, and I agree with your assessment."

"Oh! Who's that? Maybe I know them."

I twisted the hem of my sweater. "Doesn't matter."

"Ok. Well, Miss Glasson, let's see now," she turned back to the computer and I saw her pop up a calendar display, "you said your last menses was about ten weeks back?"

"Yes, I did. The 7th of that month." There was a drum roll and the Greek chorus in my brain stopped for a few seconds, all of them holding their breath.

"Let me see." She peered at the display. "I'd say, counting from that date, you are ten weeks pregnant. Technically it's eight weeks, but we count these things from your last period…"

Her voice went on but I didn't catch much of it. Well. Louisa you are pregnant – and there is absolutely no doubt when or who with it happened! My fiancé, my lover, my ex-groom to be, Martin Ellingham – my man in Portwenn. But he didn't do it all by himself, now did he?

I breathed deeply as I started at my shoes, past my lap. I thought about the pregnant woman on the subway, Mr. Prange holding the door for me, the woman at the chemist's, cute David from Manchester in the café nearly a father of two. Through all that I'd bounded from disbelief to acceptance. Now here it was - the payoff. An answer – and it was YES.

But there was no brass band, no roses and moonlight, no warm husband's, or even boyfriend's hand and encircling arms. Just me in another windowless room, and I tried hard not to think about the dirty stall back at school, but I couldn't help it.

My eyes rose up to look at Dr. Moore who went on and on. Have you a husband Samantha, or a lover of either sex, and you've talked about babies one day? How you'd pick the right time to try to start a baby?

Or do it backwards? You'll look at the calendar and say 'well I'll be on break here and here, so let's back that up about nine months?' Flip, flip go the calendar pages. Compare your history, regular or not, and then say right here and circle a week or so. You'll point to that week and think – 'yes, I'll go the salon the week before for a facial and get my hair done, then find just the right nightgown, and make reservations at our special restaurant.'

Or say it will likely take a few months to start a baby, so let's start back _here_? Or maybe you'll say what the hell and jump in the sack? Just take what comes, hell or high water?

Or maybe there is no significant other, but you want a child anyway. So you cruise the bars, talk to a really good friend, or go to a clinic for artificial insemination?

Or the two of you will be trying and trying with that special person, making rounds of fertility clinics for months or years, spend thousand of pounds, and still keep your fingers crossed and pray that this time, _ damn it_, it _will_ work?

Or just have it happen after only a few weeks with the man that says he loves you, and you say that you love him, and you can count off the most likely week, if not _the day_ that this happened?

It's not rocket science, Louisa Glasson. You can probably even remember _the_ night. It was at your cottage, in your bed, with the red and white wallpaper on the walls. And Martin was there with you just as you wanted him to be.

But then you didn't get married, which would have made things all the simpler.

Millions of babies are born every year and most of those _never_ get planned, most likely. Just like this one. My left hand went to my belly.

"A few more things, Miss Glasson, my nurse will give you whole a packet of information, plus prenatal vitamins to get you started, a nutrition guide, no alcohol or drugs, and no cigs either. And avoid caffeine and eat plenty of fruits and vegetables. Moderate exercise is good, all that."

"And how big, erh, is my…"

She took my hand and guided it down low. "Just about here," she pointed. "Your uterus is around the size of a cricket ball now. A bit bigger perhaps."

I sat there taking this all in, while my other hand was creeping to my purse, crawling almost with a mind of its own there, lifting the flap, and taking out my mobile.

The doctor patted my arm. "Congratulations. And we'll schedule another visit in a month. Should be able to get ultrasound then, and hear the heartbeat. Thank you for choosing my practice." Dr. Moore saw me looking at my phone. "Calling the father?"

I looked at this young doctor, who'd spent loads more time than I had in school, seen thousands of patients in her professional life already, had any number of fancy diplomas on her walls (I counted three in the outer office) but needed a little more maturing.

Yet when I looked at the mobile screen, my very clever right hand had pressed the speed dial to Martin's phone. All I had to do was press lightly and his phone would ring right in his surgery, in Fern Cottage, on the south side of Portwenn Harbor, on Roscarrock Hill.

I could imagine the buzz. He'd grimace, excuse himself as he would be with a patient, and would pull his mobile from his suit pocket. He'd flip the phone open, the number the call came from would flash up and my name would appear on it - 'Call from Louisa Glasson.'

Martin would push the ON button, lift it to his face and say "Louisa?"

And I'd say… well, what would I say?


	11. Chapter 11

A Grip

I went to the toilet, brushed my teeth, and changed into pyjamas, after checking my mobile to see if Martin had called to say he was on his back from Truro. I usually silence the ringer when the baby is sleeping but there was no message. It was pushing ten o'clock and I wasn't worried, exactly. Martin was never too keen on driving, and I knew it was about 35 miles and hour away. Still, I'd have thought the man could call me when he was on the road.

I stepped into the hall and stopped. If I went right, I'd go to my bedroom, where the cot was set up and Philip was sleeping. If I turned left, I'd go to where Martin beds down. I turned left. The room was small, and the walls were an awful gray-green I always meant to paint over. Martin, who never noticed such things, never mentioned the sickly color – at least it made me sick.

I sat on the lumpy bed and bounced a bit. Not a great mattress either and this is where the poor man is sleeping. When I pushed with my hand it wasn't bad, but when I bounced up and down, I wiggled too much, partly from my full breasts which make me wobble and sway. Ah to be a B cup again… someday.

I lay back on the bed and thought about when I'd gone home, that special Friday in London.

There's no doubt I was surprised, shocked, bemused, and frightened about being pregnant. As I sorted my feelings, I put them into various mental buckets.

The one labeled Surprise was very obvious. I hadn't planned on it, neither had Martin, and if I'd known this I'd have stayed in Portwenn. Well would I have? Here I'm just another face in the crowd, but there, I'd be that tosser, Louisa, who's got a bun in the oven.

The Shocked bucket held all my 'what am I going to do?' stuff. Money worries, long term help and support, what about Martin, will he care, and so on. Up the spout fit squarely here as well.

Bemused was the funny bucket. I'd laughed out loud for a few minutes when I got onto the pavement outside the doctor's building. I thought of what a laughing stock I'd made of myself, in spite of being so careful, after all the 'help' I got from dear old dad, Terry. I'd spent years trying to regain the trust of the village, after all the stunts my dad pulled. Now this.

But it _was_ funny in a devilish sort of way. I chuckled again and two women passing by gave me a funny look, likely thinking I was drugged or drunk. I was in a way – drunk on irony – or maybe hysteria.

My frightened bucket held far too many dark things that overlapped the Shocked and Surprised buckets, so I just dumped all the shocked things into this one as well. Money and help were the largest things in this one. And another – would I keep the baby – either end it now or let it be adopted?

I thought also of my mum who jumped ship when I was ten years old.

I was at school, and came home to an empty house. Dad was off somewhere trying to work a deal, as he always was up to, but I had a key and mum worked days at a hotel.

So I made a bread and butter sandwich, opened a book and read. Mum was usually home around six, but not that day. Dad wandered in about seven and stomped through the house. He came into the kitchen where I was reading. "You seen your mum?" he growled.

"No, dad. She's late today. Something wrong?"

"I don't know." He dashed upstairs and I heard him slamming doors. Then I heard a shout. "Dad? You ok?" I called. He didn't answer so I ran up to their bedroom, where I heard odd noises.

My dad, Terry Glasson, a man who was big across the shoulders and in ego, was sprawled on his back on their bed with tears running down his face. He clutched a crumpled piece of paper to his chest. I stood in the doorway, shocked. My dad didn't cry – not ever. The drawers were pulled from the clothes chest and bits of clothing were on the floor and bed. There was a pile of shoes too, all mixed up, mum and dad's, scattered about.

"Dad?" I crept to the bed and touched his foot. "What's wrong?"

He put his fists to his face and sobbed openly. "She's gone, Louisa! Cleared out," he blubbered with a racking choking noise, and then threw the paper to the floor as he managed to sit up and wiped his face on a sleeve.

"Right." He sighed. "Mum's gone, Louisa. She… uhm… said she needed a bit of break." He punched the bed a few times, then slowed and stopped. "Ok, Terry get yourself a grip," he said to himself then paid attention to me again. "We'll do fine, won't we, love?" and he smiled.

Carrying my bag of pamphlets, notes, broadsides, and vitamin tablets I cruised down the street. I hopped on the Tube, traveled to the market near the apartment and took myself home after a short walk.

My flat mate Liz was asleep since she worked nights at club. So I crept into the apartment trying not to make any noise, as she usually got in around 4 AM. Liz was tall, blonde, blue eyed, and willowy with big tits and a come hither face plus a laugh that would take your ears off when she got it cranked up. She was sweet to me, poor little girl from Cornwall as she'd christened me when I called about the flat.

The hostel where I'd stayed for a few days was expensive, dirty, and busy. Here it was quiet and affordable, with four rooms and a bath, in an old building with tall ceilings and leaded glass windows. But the floor squeaked. I tip-toed along, but there was one monster board that squeaked if you were within three feet of it. It made a loud noise as I neared it and I heard a muffled shout from my flat mate's room.

"What? Who's there?" she yelled.

"Just me, Liz! Louisa." I called out.

The larger bedroom door swung open and a bleary eyed Liz appeared, wearing nothing but panties and a worn cami. "Gawd, Louisa, you scared me!"

"Just home early."

"Jesus, Louisa, it's barely noon."

"Half past actually."

Liz looked at me all squinty eyed, as she wore contacts, so she was trying to focus with out of shape eyeballs. "You don't look too good, girl."

I breezed past her into the kitchen. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit. Don't give me that," she said padding after me into our kitchen. "You're white as a sheet!" She stepped onto the cold tile floor and screamed. "Gawd, why can't the landlord put some heat into this place?" She hopped onto the counter putting her bum next to my groceries.

"Well, if he did, Liz, we'd pay more rent so we'd be living somewhere else."

"Yeah, you're right." She yawned and stretched and her threadbare camisole came within an inch of its life.

I looked at my gorgeous roommate shivering in her underwear. "If you're cold, you could wear more clothing," I suggested.

"Ha! What's the fun in that? You gonna make coffee? I'm dying."

I considered. "No, think I'll go off it. I've been at it too much." At least I could dodge this discussion for a time.

Liz started pawing through my market bags. "What you got in here? Oh, goody, lot's of fruit, juice, rice, veggies, and a chicken. Yum." She finished with a finger into her mouth along with gagging noises.

I went into the lav, used the toilet and washed. As I was drying my hands I heard a shriek. Oh, God, I thought, why does Liz have to be so darn theatrical? Then it hit me and I ran back to see Liz holding up magazines and a book I'd bought at the chemist down the street. She'd pulled them from the shopping bags.

"Louisa?" she asked accusingly as she pointed to the titles. The book was 'You and Your Foetus,' and the magazines were 'Working Woman Maternity,' 'Making the Most of Motherhood,' and "Pregnant and Fit.'

Liz's eyes boggled at them and at me. "No! You're not. No!"

I breathed deep, which I was doing a lot that Friday. I thought about my bucket sort of issues. The one I'd not thought about was Proud. Was I going to be proud or not? The other pregnant lady on the Tube, what an honored sorority I was in now, had wished me luck. I would certainly need it.

Liz next held a package. "And these?" She was holding clearly marked pregnancy vitamins. "Louisa?"

Was I proud? My mum ran away and I was not about to. I was going to keep this child, mine and Martin's, no matter what! I think I had a grip – just like my dad had to. Was I serious?

In an adrenaline surge I felt I got my grip. "Yes! I am PREGNANT!" I shouted.

So Liz grabbed me and shrieked once more.


	12. Chapter 12

Moving

I thought I was pretty darn smart with the food I'd bought that day. All kinds of healthy things that my body would want and need. But I forgot one important thing. Plain biscuits.

Saturday morning, my breakfast oatmeal went down fine along with the apple juice until I felt a terrible urge. I ended in the bathroom, barfing. That would have been bad, but manageable, but my retching woke Liz up _and_ the guy she brought home that night.

Liz came marching in ready to tear my head off, I'm sure, but when she saw my bedraggled self hugging the toilet, and got a whiff of the smell, that was enough for her.

"Lou," she started to yell. "Lou," she tried again. "Jesus! Louisa, move over," she said and joined the party. I smelled of scented bath oil and vomit and Liz smelled of cigs from the club, plus sweaty body odor, peppermint schnapps, and barf. Horrid.

We started a tag team. The double assault on the plumbing was unexpected and if I hadn't felt so bad I'd have laughed. Not funny just then.

Then her date barged in wearing underpants and wild hair. "Ah, come on girls! My god! Both of you?" He staggered out running into the door frame on the way. "I'm outta here!" he yelled.

I heard furious fumbling about in her bedroom then he came back nearly dressed and hopping on one foot as he stuffed a foot into a shoe. "Liz Sparks," he shouted, "you and your mate both suck!" followed by our front door slamming as he departed.

Totally spent after a while, I lay with my forehead on the cold tile, which felt good.

Liz was sitting against the wall, pushing her tangled hair from her face. "Gawd! Louisa that had to be the worst ever wakeup…" she began.

"Sorry Liz. Who was he?"

"Stan. He's a player."

"Player?"

She strummed the air.

I got it. "Oh, guitar."

"Doesn't play very well, either. And the stupid arse fell asleep just when things were getting interesting!" She rubbed her eyes. "Well, might as well get up. What's the time?"

"My watch says eight thirty."

Liz looked at me in horror. "In the morning? Louisa, if you're going to be doing this every morning…"

"I hope not!"

"Good, but I'll get some ear plugs anyway!" She started to laugh and fell against the wall in a fit of giggles.

I could only laugh along with her. So I learned that eating lightly, especially for the morning, might be a good idea for me.

While Liz headed back to bed, still muttering vague threats against people who actually got up before three PM on a Saturday, I left for a walk. The rain was gone; I still felt a little queasy but as I went on that stopped, pretty much.

So that started a tradition that I held to each weekend, get up, puke a little, eat a biscuit and take a walk. I eventually worked my way up to jogs. I wasn't a very athletic kind of girl but I wished I had my bike here. I later found a bike shop where the guy took pity on me. He'd fixed up a pretty ratty bike, thinking he could rent it along with his newer ones. This had been useable until a lorry decided to roll over it. The frame was somewhat crushed, the front fork tended to go a bit left, but the price was right. It became mine, for a few pounds, whenever I wanted it as it was non-op as far as tourists where concerned.

So those were my weekends. Liz did buy her earplugs and things pretty much went back to normal, but if she had a friend, they went to his place. She thought her actions might cause harm to me and to the baby.

"Harm?" I inquired.

"Yeah – all that psychic bad vibes stuff. Wouldn't want the thing to grow up to be a sex fiend," Liz responded, "Like me!"

I shook my head. "I don't think it works that way. And you're not a fiend, are you?"

"All the same! Won't be my fault." She hugged me. "Just want you and little… you know, to be alright."

So my weekends were quiet, mostly serene, and fairly lonely. The weekdays were something else being filled with work and making papers at night. The Monday after THE Friday, Jaime Waters stayed away, far away from me. Almost like I had the plague or something, not carrying a little passenger. I didn't seek her out either.

Mr. Prange did come by to check on me and I got weird signals from the man.

"Oh, I'm alright now!" I answered him, "Just off my feed."

"Well, you know we had to bring in a temporary and at short notice…" he clapped his hands together. "it cost us a packet."

"Sorry. Hadn't planned on it."

He crossed his arms and got quite stern. "Try to see that you're healthy in future?"

"I will…" I looked at my watch. "Now, I must prep for class."

"Yes." Then he gave me a suspicious look before he stomped away.

Odd little man, but I had experience with odd men, some more than others. And I didn't mean Stewart the Ranger, either. I'd take Stewart and Anthony his invisible six-foot squirrel over most guys for Stewart might be deranged, but he has sense.

I wondered if Prange heard me on the phone the other morning when I called the doctor? But why would that make him so prickly?

So I got back into teaching, and as I dealt with the little darlings, most of whom were not, there was a little question in the back of my head. Which one of these children would my child be most like in temperament? I had a good idea what they may look like, sort of a melding of me and Martin, but their personality was a guess. The baby book told me that by the end of the third month the foetus already reacts to sound and movement showing their little brain already processing stimuli. Remarkable.

So as I stood in class, walked down the hall at school, or even on the pavement, I tried to adopt a Zen-like state of calm, in spite of the chaos about me, and at times within me. But there were times when I pull out the mobile and almost call Martin, but I'd not press the SEND button.

And when that happened, I'd close the phone, close my eyes and think of a wind blowing on the moor, the grass moving like waves on the ocean. The face of Bert Large would suddenly pop into my head and he'd be saying, "Go with the flow, Louisa."

So I went with the flow as best I could. Tried to keep moving. My belly got sort of rounder and I could hide it with big skirts, no trousers anymore, and my energy level increased over time, so I didn't feel like I'd been run over by the end of the day. I hadn't gained much weight, but my bust started to do things, so bulky jumpers got worn; it was colder so I had a good excuse.

And three weeks after my doctor's visit, I was eating lunch at school, when I felt something odd. It was inside, low, sort of a light rumble. Like a bad bearing on a car axle, it would happen once in a while, but it was light and airy, not rough.

I was at the flat that night and Liz was home nursing a sprained instep (some idiot stepped on her foot at the club) when I felt the thing just take off. We were eating popcorn and watching _Dr. Who_, when it really started being active.

"You ok? You look like something's wrong." Liz asked me.

On the telly, the Daleks were threatening Earth again, but the Doc and Amy Pond were holding them off. "I don't know. Maybe gas."

"Sort of a fluttery thing?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Here." She held my baby book in front of my face. "I've been studying this owner's manual for mums." Her index finger pointed to a paragraph headed 'Feeling The Baby Move.'

I read it and it fit. My hands went to my tummy, and yes there it was. "Liz! Quick – hand!"

Liz dropped the popcorn bowl and scooted across the sofa. I took her hand to put it just so. Her face lit up. "Wow!"

I looked down and said "Houston, we have movement!"

But that was then and this is now. I got out of bed to go to toilet and hung over the cot for a moment. Philip was lying on his side, all tucked into his little next of blankets. Not ready to roll over yet, but someday, little guy you will. The damn clock read 2 AM, and still no Martin. There was no way his meeting could last this long, could it?

That's when I picked up my mobile. No calls from him. I was just dialing when I heard the front door open. "Martin? That you?" I called softly down the stairs. I didn't hear a voice, but the door closed and I heard the shuffle of shoes on the slate floor.

I went down and there was Martin slumped on the sofa and he looked terrible. His shoes were scuffed and muddy, trousers mussed with dark stuff, tie gone, white shirt speckled in blood, and the grey suit coat thrown over a chair.

"Martin? My God, what's happened? What's wrong? Were you in an accident?"

He looked up at me with eyes red rimmed and haunted, like he'd seen into the deepest pit of hell. He pulled me down, threw his arms around me and sobbed into my hair. "Oh, Louisa, I couldn't save him!"


	13. Chapter 13

Pain

There are some things in life we don't want to see. They include violent crime in person or even on the telly, major illnesses of loved ones, and natural disasters too horrible to absorb at one go. Another is seeing someone close to you in the depths of despair.

As Martin sobbed into my hair and wet my shoulder with tears and snot, I knew this was the latter. I didn't know what had happened, or how or when, I only knew that something _very bad_ had happened; something so bad that it had brought Doctor Martin Ellingham crashing to earth like a plane with wings blown away by a ground-to-air missile.

I held him and rubbed his back, saying things like. "Oh, Martin, it's ok, it will be alright," and so on. The kinds of things I say to a student who'd not been picked for the school play, been taunted to tears on the school playground, or been yelled at by a parent in front of their chums. I knew the words were nearly useless, but it kept contact and added some other voice to the pain being felt inside.

He was keening now and wailing and Martin squeezed me tight and as his sobs turned into coughing fits, he started to say words, not just sounds. "Tried to… get him… stable, but…" he coughed, "couldn't! Had no time, no tools. No help!"

"Sh, sh Martin. Sh." I held my head against his and he slowed down with the noises. But it started again, the tears, the choking crying, but after a long while it pretty much stopped.

He leaned back on the sofa. "Sorry." He sniffled greatly then laid his head back, face to the ceiling. Fat tears dribbled down his cheeks. "Tissue, Louisa?" His breathing was ragged and rough.

I struggled up, also quite upset, got two towels, dampened one and went back. I put the wet compress on his forehead and with the other cloth dried his wet face and lips. Martin was a tough cookie, one hard man, and I'd rarely seen him like this. Philip's birth was one, when he rushed back into the pub, me screaming I wanted him, and him yelling that he was wrong about everything.

About a month later here we were again, crying like fools. Before it was as I pushed a baby into the world with no anesthesia screaming and groaning, but now our roles were reversed. This time I was the one trying to support and comfort Martin.

He grasped my wrist as I blotted his face and that touch said volumes. "Martin, just relax."

His great chest expanded now more slowly and he blew out air through pursed lips. The chest heaved less and less and he opened his eyes and looked at me. "Sorry," he started, "I…"

"No." I put my hand on his mouth. "It can wait."

"No, it won't."

I looked at the father of my child, seeing the features I knew so well starting to mold themselves back into the controlled person that he thought himself to be and was to most of the world.

I put my arms around him and he hugged me tight and it hurt. It was close to Philip's middle of the night feed, but I didn't stop Martin. If anything I squeezed him tighter, the sore feeling across my chest helping me feel part of what Martin must be feeling.

So with him pulling and me helping, I straddled his legs, chest to chest, closer than we'd been for over nine months. The lack of his touch had burned like acid all that time. This was what I'd craved – to be with him – this closely.

"Louisa?" he asked after a long time.

"Yes?" I answered.

"You're breaking my back."

"Oh, sorry!" I let him go and got off him, as much as I hated to, but stayed curled next to him. "Better?"

He patted my leg. "Yes. Would you make us some tea?"

So I took my tear and goo soaked pyjama-clad self to the cooker and put the kettle on.

"Louisa?" Martin asked. "Is Philip alright, upstairs? He's by himself, you know."

"I'll check on him in a minute." I went back to him and touched his short hair. "Better now?"

"A little." He breathed deeply. "Whew! Been a long time… since…"

"Melted down?"

"Yes, too long, perhaps."

I was amazed that Martin Ellingham would admit that. Trying to change the subject, I asked. "So what did Chris Parsons want?"

Martin blew his nose on the towel. "It will keep."

"No, tell me!"

"Let me use the toilet, please."

"Alright." He creaked to his feet and walked towards the stairs. "No!" I snagged his hand and we ended up eye-to-eye. I was in the kitchen and he was on the step so I had a bit of a height advantage. "Tell me now, Martin. Tell me please?"

He looked away then back at me. "Ok."

"So what did Chris want – what was the meeting about?"

Martin kissed me on the lips, all salty and everything. He broke away and gave me an honest-to-goodness honest look. "He offered me a job, Louisa."


	14. Chapter 14

Transition

I followed Martin upstairs to get more details about Parsons' offer but just then Philip started to wake and fuss. So I had to do my duty to the baby, which took awhile.

By the time I'd fed and burped him, changed him, then got him settled down, forty five minutes had passed. Then I changed into clean PJs, thanks to Philip spitting up on me and Martin's less than expected tears and whatnot.

With all the running about, I didn't have time to deal with Martin. What got him so upset? Someone had died, obviously, but who and how? And what was the job that Chris Parsons, head of the Truro Hospital had offered him?

By the time I was able to talk to him, he'd showered then gone to bed, leaving me totally in the dark, literally. His ruined shoes were askew on the bathroom floor with the dirty trousers crumpled next to them. I looked at them sadly. Perhaps they could be salvaged, but with the wear at the knees, which had not been there this afternoon, probably a total write-off. The blood spattered shirt I doused with detergent; maybe it could be saved.

I walked down the hall, where I saw light under the door of the spare room. I was only steps away as the light snapped off. I put my ear to the door and heard nothing. "Martin?" I whispered. Silence. "Martin?" More nothing. I pushed the door open slightly and stuck my head inside.

In the dimness I could see Martin lying on his back, his blankets up to his neck. He did not stir as the hinges creaked when I entered and peered at him. I wanted… to be with him. "Martin?" I called, still whispering. He did not stir.

_Never mind_, _Louisa_ a voice in my head echoed and went on. _Let the man sleep_. I backed up and closed the door, but as I pulled it shut behind me, I heard the creak of the springs, as if he rolled over.

I stopped and put my ear to the door, but heard no more. Standing there awhile, I wondered what should I I do? What if I barged in on him, woke him up? What would he do and then what would I do? I wanted to comfort him and to be comforted.

There was no good answer, so I sadly went down the long hallway to my bedroom, closed the door, crawled into bed, and had a really good, long and soundless cry.

In the morning, I was awake first. Philip was sleeping well, so I showered and got ready for the day. I was eating a solitary breakfast after feeding the baby, when Martin clumped down the stairs. He hadn't shaved, his hair stuck up, and he was in PJs and robe.

"I made coffee for you." I said as he dropped into a chair.

"Thank you, Louisa."

I looked at the wreck of Martin, quite unlike what I knew. "Want some now?"

"Yes. He drummed fingers on the table. "About last night, I mean, this morning..."

"Still waiting Martin." I was still cross. Whether at him or me, I wasn't sure.

"Coffee, first, though? If I could?"

He drank coffee, ate some toast, and then it looked like he _finally_ was ready to tell me what had happened. "I told you that Parsons offered me a job."

"Yes. In Truro? Quite a change for you."

"Sort of. Part time – part of a quality review thing he's started."

"Sure you're the right man for it?" I toyed with my juice glass as I said this.

"Yes! Do you doubt me?" he almost shouted.

"God, Martin! Calm down. I just wondered if _you'll_ _be_ happy enough."

He sighed. "I think so. Better than…"

"London?" As I said this I knew it was unkind.

He looked sharply at me, frowning. "Yes. Louisa, this job is a chance to practice medicine again. After…"

I took his hand. "I'm sorry, Martin. I know it's what you want."

"It's all I know."

I cleared my throat and took the lunge. "Now how about the other thing?"

He cracked his neck from side to side and opened his mouth. "The meeting went well… really well…"

Then there came a knock at the door. I went up and saw PC Joe Penhale standing there, visible through the frosted panels. I opened the door. "Little early, Joe, we're still..." I pulled at my robe.

"Louisa morning. I need to talk with the doctor, please?" he pleaded.

"Martin? It's Joe."

He was already at my elbow. "Constable Penhale."

"Doctor." He started then hugged Martin saying, "You're a hero doc! A real hero!"

But the look on Martin's face said that he felt anything but.


	15. Chapter 15

Answers

So as my bare feet got cold in the breeze blowing in the open door, Martin looked like he was trying to teleport somewhere else, as Joe Penhale held the father of my baby in his arms, and it wasn't quite a man hug either. Then I saw Joe was crying while Martin recoiled from his grip, arms at his sides.

Little tears appeared in Penhale's eyes and a few trickled down his cheek. That's what made him let go, I am sure. "Sorry, doctor. I… just wanted …" he wiped his face on his sleeve, "to say thank you."

Martin recoiled pushed Joe away. "That's alright… but…" I didn't like the wide-eyed look he gave me.

Joe put a hand on Martin's shoulder. "Just wanted to come…" more sniffles, "and say thank you for what you done."

"Erh, but…" started Martin. "I, uhm, didn't…"

"Yes you did," went on Joe. "You was there when it counted!" Martin started to say more, but Joe pumped his hand vigorously. "Just wanted to say that I am damn glad, sorry Louisa, that you're still here in the village." He let Martin go then unexpectedly threw his arms around me. "You are the luckiest woman!"

Luck? Still a single mum, spent six months away from home, my baby's father and I are sleeping in separate beds, and I really have no idea where we will end up, Martin almost never talks to me in full sentences, and he calls me lucky? "Ok, Joe. Thank you."

Joe was all smiles and I practically pushed him through the door, before he told the both us that he wanted to have our babies, which would have been some sort of medical miracle. With a click the door closed, as Joe was still going on about how Martin was a superhero, dynamic duo and all that, I think he said.

Martin looked at me with soulful eyes. "Let me explain."

"Yes." It was my turn now for monosyllabic answers.

Martin went and sat, and I followed, keeping some distance between us on the sofa so I could get a good look at his face. "Begin," I commanded him.

Martin started and it was practically the longest speech I've ever heard him make.

"The meeting went well, but late, and the three other committee members questioned me at length about my reasons for quitting the GP position. I told them the whole thing, mostly. They accepted my reasoning that my son is here, and I had changed my mind to stay nearby. The meeting ended, we left the restaurant and Chris took me back to hospital to sign the contract. The term is five days each two weeks for six months. The pay isn't what I'd made as the GP, but it will be adequate…" he took my hand, but kept going. "Yes. Contract signed, Chris and I talked until round ten, was it? Yes that was it. Then I headed for home, erh, Portwenn."

"Martin, sounds great so far. But what about, the uhm, thing?"

He sighed. "Coming to that. I made good time on the A39, although the Roads Council has some lane closures below Wadebridge for night repairs. I got past the roundabout onto the 83314, and past the turnoff to Trewoman, I came up on a car ahead of me…" He stopped and his voice broke momentarily. "Going slower, there was fog last night, you could see it along the verges, and we came to a turn, sharp left from our direction. The car in front, must have been a hundred yards ahead, started to enter the curve. It then blitzed across the roadbed and into the moor while something else, just got a flash, scraped along it on the driver's side and crashed on the verge to my right."

"Oh…" I got out.

"I stopped the car and found a motorcycle, one of those hellish fast ones, crashed into the guardrail at a bridge. The rider had flown and came to rest some hundred feet or so past the roadway."

As he went on his grip got tighter and as the pain traveled up my arm, I felt the tension too. "Was he?"

"No. In fact he was conscious. His chin was bloody, the helmet had ridden up a bit, a broken arm found that later, likely a broken collar bone, and so on. Miracle no neck injury."

"Sounds awful, then why, did he, oh, you know," I asked softly.

Martin took my other hand as well. "He actually rolled over and smiled, smiled at me! Said he was a patient, or used to be. Carl James, his name, roomed for the summer with the Hanson's three years ago."

"Oh, yes, I remember him! Nice man, dark hair, about my height. Worked at the radio station that summer."

"Yes." Here Martin stopped and sighed. "I told him to lie still, but the fool insisted on sitting up. Asked about the bike, how badly smashed and so forth. Meanwhile the other driver, a Mrs. Bowman, from St. Endellion had run back to us. She was shaken with cuts of her face and arm from the cycle smashing her side mirror and driving through the side glass. She wasn't much hurt. James, however, did not…"

"Oh, Martin. I'm sorry. Just a traffic accident."

Martin dropped my hands and put his head in them. "Carl said he was going quite fast, you know how those things can go, and he'd taken the curve tightly. Too tightly. He scraped along the Bowman car, tried to straighten it out, might have made it too. But my car was just in front of him." He looked up. "The bike wobbled, I suppose, as he missed me, went to my right - his left - and hit the guard rail."

Martin went on, "Carl sat on the grass, holding his arm, dribbling blood from a bitten lip. 'Sorry doc, he said. Look's like I ruined your evening.'"

"I ran back and got my bag, Mrs. Bowman was trying to reach Emergency, no service just there. Her car was damaged, so I gave her my keys and told her to drive towards Wadebridge and get a signal. You know how the moor coverage is spotty and oddly there was no other traffic, but it was almost 1 AM at that point. I'd no idea Parsons kept me so long. So she left me with Carl. Going for help."

"I checked Carl over, surprisingly no head injury, no blown pupils, not concussed - just the arm, chin, the knees a bit bashed. Lucky fellow… or so I thought." He looked at me and the haunted look was back. "Louisa, I… missed it…"

"What? What did you miss, Martin?"

"His pulse was rapid, not unexpected, blood pressure a bit elevated. He was in good spirits, though he complained of being cold, quite damp with the fog. Then he started complaining of chest pain, I'd expect that, but with his leather jacket and pants he'd slid quite far. It was only later I saw the rocks which he must have hit, after the police arrived. His pulse went up a bit, pain and all that. Then blood pressure fell, pulse got erratic. I elevated his legs, zipped up the jacket to keep him warm."

I took Martin's hand as he went on.

"The police showed up in around twenty minutes, ambulance minutes later, but James was not doing well. His pulse had fallen off, rapidly, hands and feet grew cold. He started to slip away. Pulse dropped right off. Heart came and went, up high, down low that sort of thing. Then the blood pressure started a slow drop. He even said that he was sorry he'd made a fuss. Can you imagine?"

"When the officers arrived, one recognized him at once. Seems Carl James had become a rookie constable, in the three years since his summer in Portwenn. He was working out of Padstow - training down there."

Martin stopped the tale and looked out to the harbour. He sighed and looked over at me. "Louisa… I've lost patients, not many, but I have." He looked at the floor. "James didn't wait for the ambulance. His BP fell off - straight to zero. No pulse. I started CPR – the officers helped. Even the Bowman woman, who'd returned in my car, came out in the field – helped time our efforts. She even took a turn at rescue breathing, said she'd been in the RAF years ago as technician."

"By a miracle James came back, the adrenaline I shot in must have helped. Oh Louisa… he looked at me, and grabbed my hand. Pulled me down to his face. 'Thanks doc' he said." Martin stopped and wiped his nose. "He went."

"Martin, I am sorry."

"Then the bloody ambulance came, but I'd not given up. Full oxygen, more massage, all the way into Wadebridge. We tried… all that time… and more…"

I held his hands. "Marty… don't."

His eyes flashed at me. "He had a cardiac tamponade. The ultrasound showed it in the ER at hospital. If I'd only known!"

"What'd he have Martin?"

"Louisa our hearts are inside a sack called the pericardium. He had torn a blood vessel on the outside of his heart – from impact. With each heartbeat, blood leaked from his heart into the sack, outside the heart. As the pericardium filled, his blood pressure fell, his heart having to push against the pressure of the blood around it. Carl James died as own heart was squeezed to death by the very blood it was trying to pump!"

"But there was nothing you could do, was there?"

Martin looked down then up at me and his eyes were wet. "Could have, should have done something. Stuck a scalpel into his chest to let the blood out."

"But then he'd bleed to death as well."

"Yup." He slumped as he said it. "I know that. But I should have suspected a tamponade right off. I should have sent Mrs. Bowman to call for air evacuation."

I rubbed his arm. "Martin…"

"I've lost patients before of course. Had one bleed out right on the table when the aneurysm I was to repair blew apart. Awful mess. But that one was seventy five. Carl James was twenty six – years to live."

"So sorry, Martin." I said and hugged him. "So why'd Penhale come today?"

Martin sighed and looked down. "Carl James was a constable. I didn't save him, but the cops think I'm some sort of hero. Louisa, how can I be a hero when I failed?"

"You know that's not what they mean."

"Tell them that." Then he burst into tears.


	16. Chapter 16

Luck and Lies

Luck. Right. Thanks but no thanks.

I would seem to me that things happen with some good or bad outcome and then we try to say this thing was _lucky_ or that one was un_lucky_. Doesn't it depend on your viewpoint? When my mum left everybody thought it was really bad - 'No luck at all that Terry Glasson has,' they'd say. But we got along, dad and I, far better than if she was there. For one thing, he tried a lot harder to get jobs and keep them. That did not mean that he might not loose the money at the bookie, but he did try harder.

Joe Penhale said I was lucky, and he firmly believed it. I did not think so.

It all came home when I walked to the Pharmacy to buy some baby supplies. We needed wipes for poo clean up, some emollient cream for me and things like that. Martin was holding the fort with Philip, so I traipsed down the street for a few glorious minutes alone, or so I thought. But I couldn't take too long as Martin had to dash off to Wadebridge to be interviewed about the fatal accident.

Then here came Mrs. Mills.

"Oh, Louisa! So nice to see you, how's the baby?"

"He's fine, just off to buy some…"

"Of course dear!" Kathleen Mills could talk the handles off a chamber pot, if you weren't careful. She had a way of latching on and holding tight, no matter if you were in a hurry or not. I was convinced that her house could be aflame and she'd stop the firemen for a chat as they rushed to her aid. "Just wanted to ask, how are you my dear?"

"Fine, fine." I tried to make a getaway. "Just have a few minutes and …"

"Of course, Louisa!" She took my arm. "I heard about that poor young policeman. Such a shame. But Doc Martin was right there… Such luck."

"Mrs. Mills, I really don't have any time, nor can I discuss…"

"He tried so hard too. Poor thing." She'd not heard me.

"I won't talk about…"

She stopped me. "Alright dear. I understand perfectly! I wouldn't want to get into your business."

"Thanks." I turned to leave but her hand was on my arm. "If you could, just let me…"

"And dear," Kathleen wasn't done yet, "how are things going between you and Doctor Ellingham? Hm? Things ok on that front?"

I thought about the crying jag the other morning and our separate bedrooms. "Fine!" I lied. "Things are just… well they're…"

"Oh." Her face fell. "Well, whenever my mister seems a bit _uninterested_," she winked and looked around, "I just drag out my nicest lingerie…"

"I really have to go." I ripped my arm away before she started giving me advice on what perfume to wear. Busy body!

"Bye! Louisa, come see me some time!" Mrs. Mills called to my back.

I sort of waved at her but kept moving.

Sally Tishell the pharmacist was next. Sally's always had a 'thing' for Martin, every since he moved here. Her husband was always away working and the poor woman has had designs on Martin for quite a while. Her eyes looked daggers at mine as I went into the chemist shop. After all, I had him, sort of.

"Louisa," she said coolly. "Help you today?"

"Hello, Mrs. Tishell. I just need some of these wipes, do you have any… ah, and here's the ointment I need. That should do it."

She turned her whole upper body, neck still partially braced by her foam neck collar. "Would you be wanting some of this?" and she put a bottle of Listerine on the counter. "You haven't bought any for quite a while." She gave me quite an odd look.

I bit my lip. "Uhm, I think I'm quite ok there."

"So you don't need the Listerine. Oh." she sighed sadly. "And how is Martin, I mean Doctor Ellingham, doing? I suppose he's, I mean, both of you are keeping well?" The last came out rather archly as she drew patterns on the counter top with a finger tip.

I could only stare at her. Insufferable woman. She's never given me a pass on snaring Martin, and she'd clearly not given up on her own fantasies. "We're fine." Another lie, Louisa - twice in the last five minutes. Shame.

"So you don't need the mouthwash?" Her harpy's teeth smiled over her thin lips. "Oh. I'll just put it back, then."

"No! Yes! I don't know!" My anger flashed, just like that.

Mrs. Tishell came around from behind the counter. "Oh, Louisa, I am sorry. Anything I can do? Something wrong? It's not anything I said, is it?"

I managed to swallow the nasty words that I wanted to blurt out. Through my gritted teeth I said,"Just give me the damn mouthwash, would you?" I whipped out my cash card and gave it to her. "Here."

"Alright." Sally pretended a hurt look. "No need to be nasty, is there?" She scanned the card and dropped the items into a sack. "I haven't seen your baby yet - Martin's baby. Bring him by sometime, won't you?" Now she smiled, insincerely.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tishell." I left before I smashed something, like a window or her head.

As the door swung closed behind me I heard her add, "Say hello to Martin for me?"

I put my back against the white washed wall and tried to bring my sense of perspective back. I felt my teeth grind together and my hands clenched into fists. The cheek of some people! But just then I was saved from marching right back inside and giving Mrs. Tishell a severe talking to by Al Large, who I'd not seen for few days.

"Hello, Louisa!" he called to me.

"Hi Al! Good to see you."

"Everything ok? You look a bit off."

"I'm fine, Al. Really." Lie number three.

"Ok. Whatever you say…"

Al I considered a friend, for a man, that is. Although there was that time a few months back when the village teenage gossips were spreading rumors about us. Considering how up the duff I was at the time, it seemed laughable, when all he was doing was working on the plumbing to make money so he could buy that scooter for Pauline.

"How's Pauline?" I asked.

"Doing ok, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Oh, the new doc's been working her hard. Has her changing all the patient records. Lots of hours."

"So you haven't talked?"

He laughed. "Talked? By the time I get done with cookin' and all that at the restaurant, Pauline's been asleep for hours! Louisa, I barely see her now."

"Sorry, to hear that. And you're…?"

"Ok. Tryin' to hold it together. What with ridin' herd on Dad and not seeing my live-in girl friend, awake at least, it's been…"

"Tough?" I took his hand. "Al, we all go through times like these."

He looked at me sharply. "Yeah. You just said, 'Times like these?'" He laughed. "You'd know wouldn't you?"

I could only nod and answer truthfully. "I would, yes."

He looked away. "So, I heard about the doc, and all. The accident I mean."

I sighed. "Apparently the accident was right in front of him."

"Just his luck. Bad luck for him." Al squinted at me in the bright sun. "How's he doin' then?"

"I think he's… ok."

Al laughed again. "I know what _ok_ means Louisa Glasson!" He winked. "Be seeing you. Best of luck, Louisa!"

"Bye, Al." I made my home in a thoughtful mood. I didn't feel lucky and I didn't want to lie any more either.

Philip was waving his little arms around from Martin's lap as he barked into his mobile. "Yes." He was saying. "No." A long pause. "Yes, I told you that!" He listened longer. "Goodbye!" He said curtly then rung off.

I took the baby from him as I could tell the signs of anger.

"Louisa, give Philip back! I was…"

"I know, Martin, you were just on the phone."

"But," he began, "I was… well…"

"Well what? You were what?"

He stood. "Nothing." He slammed the phone onto the table and went outside.

"Martin? Come back here!"

He stood at the rail on the terrace looking across the harbour at his old surgery, Fern Cottage. I saw him take the wood rail and hold on. He looked like he was at sea and the waves were rough. Weren't we all?

I sighed and followed him out. "Martin?"

"Yes."

"Talk to me, damn it."

He turned to the side. "Ok. We'll talk."

"Ok."

We stood there in silence. I finally broke it. "You wanted to hold the baby, and I took him from you."

"One hundred percent mark!" He answered chopping off the words.

"I took him away. You were distracted."

"Yes and yes."

"You want him back?"

"Not if you, er… don't want to…"

I pushed the baby into his arms. "I hope you're telling the truth, but by God…"

"Or you'll do what?"

"I don't know Martin." And that was lie number four.


	17. Chapter 17

Visits

Twenty minutes after I'd gone and started laundry, Martin brought Philip inside.

"Louisa?" Martin yelled over the noise of the washing machine, "I'll have to leave shortly. Can I, uh…" and he held out our baby like an unwanted doll.

Putting hands on hips I glared. "Now you want to give him back?"

"I have to leave in a few minutes." He checked his watch. "The police have a few questions and the coroner wants to see me as well."

"Give." I took Philip and cuddled him. "Is this the way it will be? Handing Philip back and forth like a sack of spuds?" I spun around and stomped upstairs.

Martin followed closely. "Louisa! Please don't let's argue…"

I stopped on the stairs and confronted him. "No, that's quite alright Martin," I shouted. "You go off to your bloody meeting while I stay here and deal with icky nappies and dirty laundry!"

Martin showed me an angry face, the lips tight, the eyes hard. Then he did something and it wasn't more shouting. He closed his eyes briefly, opened them, took two steps up, and swept Philip from my arms. "Give. Get ready, you're going with me."

"Now? You don't need me to tag along!"

"Yes, you are right. I don't _need_ you, but I _want_ you to."

I didn't expect that at all.

Fifteen minutes later, we were out the door. A short walk up to the car park, and Martin loaded us into the Lexus and we were off. The sun was brighter and the air warmer. I opened my window, the air feeling delicious.

"Louisa!" Martin began. "Isn't this a bit windy for Philip, all this air?"

"Open your window, Martin! He's all bundled up; won't mind a bit. Come on!" I pounded on the back of his seat as I was riding in the rear with the baby. "Don't be an old lady!"

He gave me a doubtful look in the rearview mirror then pressed the button. His window went down half way. "Enough?"

"Yes, it's great!" The moor was beautiful today and the air whipping into the car felt amazing. I began to feel my spirits rise. We didn't travel very long, when he came to a sweeping right-hand curve and past it a straightaway with a little bridge.

Martin slowed the car. "It's here. Just here." He pulled to the verge and stopped. "Be back in a minute." He got out and walked ahead to the guardrail. He bent down and examined the bent steel rail and the road. Then he walked out into the field.

This must be the spot. I popped my safety belt, unclipped the baby carrier and got out. Martin walked slowly, scanning the ground. He finally crouched down and rubbed his hands over a rock and the rough gorse.

He didn't hear me as I walked up to him. He was staring at marks on the ground, footprints, torn up sod, a syringe, a gauze bandage.

I put my hand on his back. "This is the spot."

He stood and hugged me one handed. "Yes. This is where he came to rest." He pointed to the road. "You can see where the guard rail is damaged. And over there is the rock he must have hit on the way."

Clouds came in and the wind blew cold. I took his arm. "Martin, let's go."

He rested his chin on my head for a moment. "Yes."

The rest of the way we rode with the windows up and the heater on.

The police station in Wadebridge was new – glass, steel, and concrete. Martin was in the back somewhere being interviewed while I waited with the baby.

A police officer came over, her dark-skinned face questioning. "Mum?" Her badge had a strip of black tape over it.

"Miss, actually. But I am a mum."

"You're with Doctor Ellingham?"

"Yes. Came over from Portwenn. Support, you know."

Her face softened. "No need for you to be out in this hallway. Come to the lounge. You'll be more relaxed there. And what a pretty little baby. Boy? Getting a bit of hair too."

"Yes, his name is Philip. Not much hair yet I'm afraid. I'm Louisa Glasson."

"Reminds me of my young nephews. Nice to meet you. Follow me."

PC Cacia Ranee had a soft accent from the Caribbean and a gentle way. She settled us in a small room, the obligatory fridge and coffee pot against the wall, along with bulletin boards.

"Miss, I'll be just outside and the loo is down the way. Would you like a fruit juice or something?"

"Juice, please." I pressed a pound into her hand.

"No" she gave it back. "Let me buy. Least I can do."

Time ticked by. Philip slept through it all. PC Ranee watched the baby for a few minutes while I used the toilet.

Past the facilities, I saw an officer or two looking at a poster. 'To our fallen brother' it read. The young and earnest face of Carl James looked out at me from the central photo. People had signed the poster around the edges. They were prayers, sayings, and expressions of loss and grief.

I was reading all the messages when Martin came to my side. "Louisa? I'm done."

"Martin. Look. I was just using the loo when I found this."

Martin looked at it all stony faced, then his lip twitched. A hand touched the photo of Carl James. He looked down a moment, his head came up and then he pulled out a pen. He stared into space and then wrote something. He put the pen away and settled his suit coat. "Let's go."

PC Ranee walked us to the door. She shook Martin's hand gravely. "He was my friend too."

Then she admired Philip, who had slept all the while. "What a good baby." She pressed my hand a moment as I held the carrier. "Take care of that baby. Thank you Doctor Ellingham for…'

Martin held up a hand in protest. "It's what I was trained to do."

"Well, you tried very hard, I am sure. Good day and God bless."

Martin slumped as he sat down in the car.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Want me to drive?"

"No. I'm ok." He looked up at the building. "The Coroner questioned me after I made my official statement. The post-mortem confirmed the ER diagnosis."

I patted his arm from the back seat. "So you're done?"

"The rest will be a formality. They'll release the body to his family tomorrow." He sighed. "I'll want to send my condolences."

It was a quiet drive home. At the scene of the crash there were flowers tied to the guardrail. Martin gave them a very long look as we drove slowly past.

Martin was completely worn out when we got to my cottage. He carried the baby inside, who was only now starting to stir.

"I'd better nurse him now."

"Alright. If you…"

"Yes. Need anything, I'll call. Thank you."

He parted his lips then went to the sofa and sat.

I was upstairs, having fed Philip, changed his nappy, and played with him on my bed for a while. I heard Martin's step on the stairs. He went into the toilet and I heard water running.

Philip and I were playing peek-a-boo when he walked to the door.

"Ah." He said. "I was playing that with him, when you, erh…'

Oh no. "When the phone rang and I flew off the handle."

"Yes."

"Oh, Martin, I am sorry. For doing that…"

He nodded and lingered in the doorway. "I'll just go downstairs then."

"Why?"

"Don't know."

I held Philip as if he was standing and in a squeaky voice said. "Come play with us dad!"

Doctor Martin Ellingham's face broke into a small smile. "Really?"

"Yes, Martin come play with your son." I said tenderly.

So we bounced and played with little Philip until he started to doze off. I went to the toilet and returned to find Martin on his side sound asleep, with Philip cradled against his chest.


	18. Chapter 18

Jobs

Martin was getting ready to go to Truro this morning, the first day of his new job. He was grumbling about the drive. "I can't believe that Parsons expects me to make this drive each time…"

I sighed. He'd been going on about this last night. Philip had colic and wouldn't relax while Martin stomped back and forth. "Martin, give it a rest, would you? You complained about this last night. Must I hear it again?"

That stopped him for a moment but he went on. "Louisa, I wasn't complaining _at _you. I was complaining _to_ you. A difference, I believe."

"Yes, you're right. Sorry, Martin."

"Best be off." It was early but the A39 can be crowded at times and he hated to be late. He walked to the door and stood there.

I was puzzled. "What?"

"Uh… would you… come… to the door?" he asked shyly.

I was trying to juggle the baby, start the washing machine, and drink juice all at the same time. I put down my glass and dropped the clothes on the floor. I hurried to him. "Goodbye Martin. Have a good day." I put my arm around him.

He kissed me on the cheek. "I'll call you when I'm leaving to drive back."

I held him for a moment. It was sooo domestic. "Alright." But something _was_ missing – something else – and very important. I went for it. "Love you." I said.

He had turned for the door but came right back. With a bound Martin threw his arms around me and Philip. He kissed the baby. "Goodbye, son." Then he kissed me too. "Goodbye, Louisa." He inhaled deeply and said what had been missing for a couple days. "Love you too."

"Martin, you'd best be off."

"Right. Erh, isn't it today the uh…"

"Yes, Philip's appointment."

"I want a full report." He looked at me dubiously. "Tell Doctor Exley I said… erh, hello."

"I will. Bye."

The door closed behind Martin and the cottage seemed vastly empty without him. Oh come on Louisa, he'll be home by six! So get a grip, I told myself.

I tried to guess when Philip might be awake when I made the appointment and had guessed almost right. He was stirring at nine thirty when I started to get him ready. At ten sharp I walked into the Portwenn surgery, and it seemed very odd to be there, knowing that Martin was not behind the surgery door. The waiting room was curiously empty.

Pauline was at her desk, although she didn't look happy about it. She did brighten when she saw me though. "Louisa! Hi! How's the baby, how are you, how's Doc Martin doing?" came out all in a rush.

"Hello, Pauline! We're fine - all fine," I said, hoping it was true. "And how are you?"

Pauline quickly picked up the phone. "Doctor Exley? Louisa Glasson and her baby are here." She listened. "Ok. You can go in."

The door opened and the new GP stood there, shiny as a new penny. "Miss Glasson, hello!" said Doctor Ian Exley who was wearing a light blue shirt, narrow tie, khaki trousers and deck shoes, as different from martin as he could be. "Come in, please."

"Pauline, we'll talk later."

"Alright." She went back to work and her unhappy face snapped back into place.

Doctor Exley looked Philip over – hands feet, eyes, ears, mouth, reflexes – he made appreciative comments during the exam. And all seemed to be just about right.

"So. He's fit. Weight just right for a one month old." He said.

"One month? But it's been five weeks!" I asked.

"But technically he was about one week early?" he asked me. "So for his length his weight is just right for one month of age. See?"

"Oh."

Doctor Exley turned to a computer and typed some notes. "And you're doing well?"

Obviously the practice had upgraded to all electronic files. No pen and paper for this one. "Trying to be."

"Ah. And your OB is…?"

"Doctor Welles in Wadebridge. I have an appointment with her next week."

"Yes, I know her. Baby sleeping through the night?"

"Well, sometimes. Just when I think he'll go five hours, boom, it's every two." I chucked. "A bit unpredictable."

He nodded. "Yes at this age, there are a lot of changes, of course, neurons growing, new environment; all that. Miss Glasson, looks like he's right on track."

"So… what's next?"

"Come see me in another two months, when he's 13 weeks old, we can start vaccines and such then."

"Thank you. It was a worry, the sudden birth and all."

"Yes, I hear he was delivered by a medic in a pub?'

Oh the gossip mongers of Portwenn – a regional past time. I sighed. "Yes. Martin, that is, Doctor Ellingham was there as well."

"I see. Remarkable. And this was all just thirty minutes after a car crash?"

"Well, I'm sure you've heard all the details! People here will talk, you know."

Ian smiled. "Yes, they do, don't they?"

"So how are you finding Portwenn?"

He frowned. "It's not London, now is it?" but then he laughed. "It's strange – different customs – you know."

"Yes. Anything else, Doctor Exley?"

He drummed the desk. "No, I think not. Nice seeing you. Say hello for me to Doctor Ellingham, will you?"

"I shall." I picked up Philip and the baby thing bag. "Perhaps we can have dinner some time."

His eyes brightened. "That would be great! I'd like that."

I turned to the door, but he stood and stopped me.

"Just one more thing," he whispered, "Pauline Lamb. How well do you know her?"

"Quite well. Is something… wrong there?"

"Not sure." He kept his voice low. "I don't think she likes me."

"In what way?"

"She barely speaks, grudgingly does as I ask, and generally looks quite unhappy. I asked her about it, but she told me it was none of my business."

"Oh? Perhaps it's not you, Doctor Exley? Probably it's just the adjustment. You're not Doc Martin." I chuckled.

His face got grim. "I know. I keep hearing that."


	19. Chapter 19

Questions

Pauline gave me the brush off when I tired to talk to her. "Louisa!" she interrupted sharply. "I have all these files to go through…" But her desk was clean. "And I've got a brute of a headache. So can we talk later?"

"Sure. Pauline, I just wanted to talk to you. I saw Al the other day…"

"Don't you talk to me about Al!" Her voice grew hard. "I won't stand for it!"

Minefield! Gawd. "Sorry Pauline. Goodbye." I added frostily as I beat a hasty retreat from the empty waiting room. I closed the door and once outside looked down at little Philip who seemed as surprised as I was at that outburst. "Well, my boy. Where shall we go? We have all day, so let's go for a walk." I settled him into the pram and went up hill to the harbor overlook.

I came to the spot where Isabelle's baby boy was delivered by Martin - on our wedding day. Well our _non_-wedding day. I took a seat on the bench there and looked at my now sleeping baby in the pram. "Philip, you were with me right then – but you must have been microscopic." I touched his little hand.

That was a strange day. Pauline and Roger had been cracking wise about Martin's quirks and I had lost it. 'None of you can see what I see in Martin!' I had shouted and Isabelle marched me, well as much as she could march, being heavily pregnant, up here to clear my head. But it didn't clear, if anything the questions kept coming back.

Why was I to marry Martin when he could be so bloody rude? I admired him for all he'd done, but there were times he made me feel so small and stupid. Then my anger would flare and we'd shout at each other. But there were other times when his inner self came through, and I was over whelmed by the man that he was deep inside; the hurt lonely boy from boarding school. Clearly his intelligence saved him, but if he could only change just a _little_? For me?

I got out my mobile and called Isabelle's number. Her phone rang and rang, finally I heard her voice, but it was the answerphone. "Hey!" her voice started, "leave a name and number!"

I stared at the phone a moment then closed it. I wanted to talk, not leave a bloody message. Philip slept on so I sat with eyes closed and enjoyed the sun and some minutes of peace.

"Excuse me, Miss," an elderly man's voice spoke, "we was wondering if there are any good B&Bs about. We just love your village! Might like to stay a few days."

I opened my eyes to see a middle-aged couple. Than man about sixty, the lady roughly the same. The man was draped with so many cameras he looked like a store display.

"You like cameras." I answered.

The woman spoke up in a delicious Irish accent. "Oh it's not the cameras, dear, it's the pictures. The coast is just so wonderful, and your village is precious!"

"Yes, it is," I answered.

"So what makes Portwenn so special?" asked the head math teacher at the Baird School during a wet and blustery winter lunchtime. "When you talk of it," he paused, "you make it sound positively idyllic!"

I blushed. "Well, I did grow up there, so of course, it will always have a special place in my heart."

"But isn't it also very small?" asked Jaime Waters, whom I'd not spoken to in weeks. "Won't everyone know just about everything?" she said with a knowing look. "How many people?"

"Around a thousand in the village itself; maybe four thou in the whole parish."

The math teacher laughed. "So two good full morning trains would take the whole village!"

"It is small, but quaint." I answered.

But Jaime wanted to dig deeper, damn her. "So, alright. But won't you know everyone and vice versa?"

"Yes…. but that's nice, sort of. Maybe not in all ways, of course…"

She cut me off. "Not many eligible men about, I'll wager, then?" She looked across the staff table with a wicked gleam. "So you must have had a boyfriend, or what?"

"Maybe not." I chewed my lip. "That's the past, anyway."

"Ah," Jaime answered just as the lunch bell chimed. She sighed. "And just when things were getting so interesting, too." She rolled her eyes as she rose. "Tomorrow then?" she asked with a knowing smile.

Just that morning I was seventeen weeks preggars and my belly was definitely pouching out, at least below my umbilicus. And my baps were also definitely going places – up, out, and across – a three dimensional change that was surprising to me but not to the fitter in the maternity shop. So I'd carefully picked the wardrobe – new bra, a large baggy jumper and an elastic-waisted pleated skirt a size too large.

As the teachers dispersed, I managed to catch up with Jaime as we went back to classrooms. "Jaime!" I hissed softly, "why do you have to be Mr. Nosy?"

"Well I'm…"

"Jaime, you know what's going on…"

She turned to me, checked the hallway for listeners and came very close. "I know and you know, but how long until you tell Mr. Prange?" she whispered. "He does not like change. And besides, you didn't get up the duff by yourself, did you? I was only asking if there was a guy out there who might wonder what's happening!" She lightly touched my mini-bulging abdomen as she walked away.

I watched her saunter away asking myself why I ever thought she was nice. Still, she was keeping my secret, so far. As I went through the doorway into my classroom, I touched my belly and Jaime was right. Soon enough it would speak for itself.

I unlocked the desk, got out my mobile and stared at it, almost calling Martin right then. But I also thought that tosser could call me, couldn't he? Phones work both ways - even from Cornwall to London.


	20. Chapter 20

An Outing

I walked back, fed the baby, ate lunch, and we headed out from the car park at the top of the hill. I hadn't driven very much lately, what with the birth, the move, and such. When I drove myself and Philip away from Portwenn, I felt like I was on a great expedition. Granted we were only going a few miles, but I was on my own, pretty much, and I didn't have Martin hanging about. He can be wearing at times – well some times – almost always, really in our present state of affairs.

Now what are you going to do about that Louisa? You were dating, then not dating, then engaged, and then not engaged. Then you fled from the coast as if the Vikings were invading – off to the city, then you were single, and then found you were pregnant, then jobless, then back to Portwenn. And some might say you came crawling back. In fact you've heard people muttering that very thing, and not exactly behind your back either.

The awful day when you did come back, back _home_, you lumbered up the hill to the surgery, all hopeful and bright eyed, wanting to tell Martin the news; the news that he was to be a father and you a mum. You'd stood by the kitchen door, waiting for him to open. No way you could have let your real feelings show to him, with that red-haired witch, Edith Montgomery, sitting right there. So you turned, keeping that fake face firmly in place as you told Martin the baby was his, well ours, and that you'd take care of things.

Only later did I come to understand that Martin's words, 'too late for an abortion' was a matter of fact, and not a judgment. I've know now that so many things that Martin says are facts, while his tone can turn it from university lecture series into demeaning and rude slaps in the face.

But still… when I recall the look deep in his eyes as we stood outside the surgery that day, my six month pregnancy sticking well out at him, if we'd only… well, taken a deep breath. Considered what we might say, before the words came rushing out. He didn't even touch me, hug me, or take my hand. And, Louisa, you didn't either. Girl, you could have, no should have, thrown your arms around him and asked to _start over_. Would he have done it and would you?

The Haven Farm – B&B sign popped up around the bend, and I was looking at Joan Norton's farm and new business. Aunty Joan had been struggling with money for some time, she finally revealed, and the bed and breakfast business was a way to hang on and try to get ahead. Like so many independent farmers she had struggled so she had scaled back to chickens, eggs, and vegetables, as the tasks built up and she couldn't pay for full time help.

I saw some kids running around in the field, with Buddy the dog that just loved Martin – clearly some sort of perverse joke by canines on people – well on one certain person. Martin thought dogs were smelly, diseased and useless. Buddy on the other hand probably thought the same about Martin.

I was lifting the baby from the backseat when a hearty voice called. "Louisa! Oh this is a surprise!" Joan Norton, Martin's aunt, came rushing across the drive from the house. "Goodness it's nice to see you! How's my little great-nephew doing?"

"Oh, just fine, Joan!" We hugged.

I always found myself happy when around Joan. She's generous, usually sunny, always busy, yet wears her heart on her sleeve and not to her detriment. I think that if you took Joan's personality and skewed it far to one side, you'd get a good start on Martin. She was ever so much nicer than her brother Christopher, Martin's father.

Joan bustled about the kitchen as she seated me and put the kettle on. "Tea?"

"That would be lovely. Mostly milk though."

"Yes, of course. So how are you keeping? How's that nephew of mine treating you and Philip?" and she ran off a long list of questions, most of which I was not prepared to answer.

I could only smile and use my wishy-washy answer. "Oh, you know."

"Bad as that, is it?" She now held the sleeping baby Philip in her lap with firm work-reddened hands.

"Aunty Joan, it's just that Martin started this new job at Truro today, and I'm not that sure he'll make a go of it. Not really like it."

She shook her white haired head. "Louisa, there's not much that Martin likes in this world. Except for maybe you and Philip."

"Me?"

"Louisa, he's driven off any number of women, most before they ever got close. He doesn't even know it himself. And as for jobs, he only came here… you know… to escape the mess he was in London. He's complained, groused, and been a grumpy person since he got here. But with a few exceptions."

"No, Joan, don't go on."

"Sweetheart, I can't fix Martin, and I did, you'd not like him afterwards. He's headstrong, rude, but brilliant, and I know that he often lets that fact-based noggin of his get in the way. But don't you sell him short."

"I wasn't trying to." I wiped my eyes, which were suddenly wet.

Joan slapped the table softly. "Louisa Glasson, don't you get all weepy with me! Don't sell yourself short either! You are a very good and strong person, and you have your own principals and stubbornness. But you have this little person between you – the two of you. What will you do, both of you, to make things right for him?"

"Ok. Yes," I wiped tears away. "Must be the hormones."

Joan handed me the baby to take the kettle off the cooker, as it started to whistle. "Let's have tea and biscuits and we'll talk."

"Joan, no, really you have things to do, don't let me get in your way."

"Louisa, you are the only family that I have, you and Martin, and this little baby boy. What could be more important that that?" She smiled.

The biscuits were fresh, the tea, even with plenty of milk, was lovely. I nursed Philip as we talked, too old friends, now tied by the baby who was sucking the life out of me. "Ow! God Philip, you've got jaws like a crocodile."

Joan laughed. "I never had the chance to have kids, tried like mad we did, Philip and I… and that led to other things…'

I knew of her long time affair. I put a hand on hers. "No, Joan. Don't go on."

She looked up to the ceiling. "No. I don't have time for the past. Too much to do in the present. My guests from Bath, now they keep me going. Those children – a boy and girl – did you see them? They're so full of life and energy and questions – better prepare yourself Louisa – for if this baby is like any other child, you'll have plenty of 'whys' to answer." She laughed. "The parents are nice people, took a cliff walk the other day, and found a falcon's nest, then raced back here to drag me out there to see it. Very nice family, like most."

"They sound nice."

"They are and that's my point. Do you think that the man and woman just happened to build a family automatically? Not at all. They've had plenty of difficulties," she laughed at me and tapped me under the chin. "And it's not my place to ask, but your mum is long gone and your dad too, and I suspect some of the villagers are still holding you at arms length?"

"You might say that." I thought of the visit of Alicia and Trudy last week and all they wanted to do was talk about the baby, and I might as well have been invisible. "Not like it was…"

"It'll take time, girl. But with what Martin went though with that policeman, such a dreadful accident, and you too and all…"

"Yes, Joan. What are you getting at?"

"The last time I was at your cottage I used the loo and noticed that Martin is still using your spare room."

The secret was out. I looked away.

"Louisa, look at me. That man loves you still, probably more than he ever did. Your sleeping arrangements are your own. I'll not tell anyone." She ticked the lock at her mouth. "And you girl, to you he is _it_, I can tell. You're a good judge of character… or this little baby would not be here."

She stood. "Now, that I have fed you and played the role of mother hen, as well as absent mother, I do have things to do. Those chickens won't clean their own pen!"

"Thanks, Joan." I stood and picked up the baby bag. "I'll just change him and go back to the village. I'll think about what you've said." I hugged her. "Thanks again." Joan was direct and I needed to hear that, something I've been thinking about.

She laughed. "Girl, this is only a pothole in the road. I'll get to my chickens."

I got to the car and saw Joan moving muck with a barrow. "Thanks an awful lot, Aunty Joan! We'll come see you soon!" I called to her.

"Louisa, let me know when I can babysit some night, right? You'll need a night away!"

I clamped the carrier into the rear seat as Philip while dozing. I walked over to where Joan was dumping the barrow. "By the way, have you met the new GP?"

"No, not yet. Nothing's amiss, with me, thank God."

"Well it strikes me that people are staying away from the man."

Joan's blue and knowing eyes looked at me and her lips twitched before she spoke. "Yes, I have heard some talk about that."

"What have you heard?" I asked.

"Sounds to me that Doctor Exley needs to earn his stripes with Portwenn. Now if you keep standing about, I'll hand you a shovel and make you clean up after my chickens. Now shoo!" she laughed. "Bye."

We hugged and kissed. This outing was a breath of fresh air and she was right. I needed to get Martin out of that spare room. But that upstairs hallway is so bloody long…


	21. Chapter 21

Realities

Dinner was prepared by me since Martin had called an hour ago. It was pretty simple really. A tossed salad, pasta in cream sauce (no tomato sauce of course), toasted bread with cheese, and a jelly torte. I was proud of it, and as the pasta bubbled away, and the sauce thickened it felt good to do something by myself. I arranged a few flowers in a vase, some of a bunch I'd picked form the roadside returning from Joan's farm.

Martin had been very good cooking for me these past weeks so I felt, since I had the time, it was more than fair to return the favor. I'd carefully picked the lettuce leaves, torn them into nice pieces, and added some carrots and cucumbers with a vinaigrette. The sauce came from a powder mix, the pasta from a box, but the bread was fresh from the baker, the cheese made last week from a dairy near Padstow and the jelly torte freshly made by baker's wife. Simple and filling but by heaven I made it or at least assembled it.

Promptly at seven o'clock, Martin barged in. The door slammed behind him, he dropped his case onto the slate floor, and pushed past me. "Bloody cheek," he was muttering.

"Who?"

"People!"

""What people?'

He turned with fire in his eyes and pointed towards the street side of the cottage. "Those people!" He slapped his hands together. "All I wanted to do was go do this stupid, idiotic quality job that Parsons cooked up… and people kept coming to see me, to 'meet me.' All smarmy about, ooh, how was Portwenn, and tell me more about the policeman, and I understand you have a son… Louisa, I can't do this!"

I sighed. "Martin, I'm sorry you had a bad day."

"Bad day? Bad day. Yes – a bad day."

"Well, sorry to hear that, but we had a pretty good day, Philip and I, and we even went to visit Aunty Joan. And Doctor Exley says that Philip is doing fine! Right on track."

Martin rubbed his hands over his face. "Oh, I see you fixed dinner."

"Why, yes we need to eat, don't we? I couldn't very well have you cooking after a long day, and the drive, could I?"

He relaxed a little as I said this. "Yes. Smells good."

"Well then let's eat."

"I'll just wash up, then."

I kissed his check. "Oooh, whiskers. Dinner is ready when you are."

He went up the stairs and I heard the water running, his shaver buzzing, and in a few minutes he came back down looking a bit refreshed.

"Ready, Martin?"

"Yes, shall I help you…"

"No, no. I've got it. Just sit here." I pointed to his chair. "Right here."

"But the erh, baby, won't he… need … something?'

"I fed him an hour ago after my nap, he's sleeping nicely, and if we get lucky, we might even get thirty minutes to enjoy ourselves, just you and me."

"Enjoy ourselves?"

"Well, we have to eat don't we?"

"Erh, yes." Martin looked surprised.

I'd had some time to fix my hair, put on a bit of makeup, and dress in nice trousers and a satiny blouse. I'd spent so much time in too casual clothes, I felt that I needed a lift, and I thought Martin did too. A drop of two of perfume and a necklace helped to make me a new woman, well as much as possible given what I had to work with.

Dinner was fine. I filled in Martin on Philip's medical exam and he seemed pleased, or last didn't criticize Doctor Exley that much.

"Hm." He twitched his lip. "Sounds reasonable. No other findings. No ear issues, throat problems, reflexes alright…"

"Yes, Martin. He's a perfectly fine little baby." I took his hand across the table. "He's alright."

"Well, can't be too careful, what with…"

"Martin, please stop. There's no need to plow that field again."

He glared a bit at that. "You know perfectly well…"

"Yes, I know, Martin. That you could do a much better job, especially seeing all the danger signs that no one else can see."

"Yes." He sipped his water.

"Now, let me set out desert and coffee?"

"Yes, coffee."

We ate the last in silence as I didn't want to stir up his bad feelings about the bad day he'd had in Truro. Around the time we'd finished, Philip started to stir. "Oh, better get him!" shouted Martin.

"I'll just be a minute," I said. I pushed back the chair, and took a step, as Martin touched my arm.

"Louisa, dinner was… nice."

"Thank you. Have to get the baby."

"No… thank you for going to all this trouble." He waved his hand over the dinner remnants.

"My pleasure, Martin. I mean it."

The baby was awake and seemingly not hungry, so I changed him, and went downstairs. Martin was on the sofa looking out the darkening windows to the sea.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I asked while teasing Philip with a stuffed puppy. It was a gift from Pauline and it looked so much like the old grey dog that bothered Martin for three years, she probably thought it seemed to be a joke. I, on the other hand, thought the little toy was cute. I trawled the toy in front of Philip's face making little barking noises. He followed the little dog and waved his arms. "Just you wait little boy, someday we'll have a house full of doggies for you to play with."

Martin looked at me askance. "Ghastly thought."

"Don't you like the thought of having pets, Martin?"

"No, they're always slobbering, scratching, flea ridden…"

"Well, Martin before soap was invented, just imagine how smelly people were, and flea ridden as well."

"Even more ghastly thought."

"So Martin, about the job…"

"I could kick Parsons for twisting my arm into taking that. A lot of useless re-reading of case files on the computer, all of them filled with the sad tales of bunglers and mistakes. Cretins practicing medicine!"

"So, if you hate it so much, quit."

"Quit? Are you mad?"

"No, I am not! But if the job is so beneath you, why do it?"

Martin shook his head then looked at the floor. "Because I have to."

"You _have_ to? Who told you that?"

He stood up and crossed his arms. "No one." Then he stared at his shoes. "Louisa, I don't do well with people…"

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Louisa, don't you start with me, now!"

"I'm not Martin, just asking you to try and deal with the people as you're able, ok?"

Hearing me say this he looked stunned for a moment. "You're not yelling, are you?"

"No. Martin, just be the best doctor that you can be. And I know that you can be irritated by people, and that's a two way street isn't it? But do the job that Parsons wants you to. Maybe things will turn out better."

He nodded. "If you don't mind I have some reading to do. Goodnight." He kissed the baby and patted my head. "Thank you – the dinner and all."

Well he was off to his little bed. "And, Martin I was thinking that we should have dinner with Ian Exley. He seems very lonely. And something's amiss with Pauline too. Can't figure that out."

"Yes. As you wish." He turned to go. "It was my experience that there are certain – _adjustments_ – that I had to make in living here. He'll have to do the same."

"Such as?"

"Dealing with irritating people… and a certain primary school teacher who dressed as a pirate once in a while. Good night. I, uh, have to go to Truro again tomorrow. Big staff meeting."

He clumped upstairs and so much for my plans. Well, maybe half formed thoughts. I fed Philip again, got his gas out and rocked him to sleep in the rocker in my bedroom. Then I went down and cleared away dishes. The cottage was quiet and I didn't like the feeling. It reminded me too much of those lonely weeks and months in London.

I went upstairs, used the toilet, brushed teeth and decided to go to bed. Philip lay sleeping in his cot all quiet. Martin was down the hall and I was restless. I got my pyjamas from under my pillow and looked at them. No! I couldn't bear them.

I went into my chest of drawers, finding in the bottom one, under an extra blanket, what I wanted. I carefully unwrapped the paper, smelling of lilac powder. The sheer cream colored gauze felt like glory to my hands. I stripped off and put it on. I brushed my hair, put on a tad more perfume, and looked at myself in the full length mirror.

There I stood, a vision of what might have been. This was my wedding nightdress. I filled it out more than originally intended, but what with having given birth and was still nursing I'd take that. The full length brushed my legs as I moved slightly, the slit up one side feeling quite nice. The bodice was lacey and less sheer, but well fitted. I ran my hands over the thin shoulder straps, settling it well across my collar bones and thinking how nice it looked. No _I_ looked. I wrapped my bare arms about myself and stood there for many minutes dreaming.

Lost in reverie, I didn't react at first to Philip's cries, but then I moved, and not fast enough. My door flew open and Martin dashed in with a scared look on his face.

"Louisa? What's wrong?" he shouted.


	22. Chapter 22

Reckoning

My flatmate Liz Sparks had been very good about not getting into my business. She was so supportive, and nonjudgmental, I suppose it was like having a brother or sister who never questioned or probed anything. But I had to talk to somebody and I was telling her the story f how I got to London.

She sat next to me on the sofa, with her long legs curled under her, listening intently. "So, this doctor is the baby's father."

"Yes, Martin. His name is Martin Ellingham."

"And he knows you're here? In London."

"Yes."

"And did you tell him you were coming here?"

I took a drink of water and collected my thoughts.

"No."

"So you left Portwenn, came here. Then found out you were pregnant."

I nodded. "Yes."

"Do you love him?"

I answered the only way I could. "I did then."

Liz looked away then back. "And you're intending to tell him when?"

I sighed deeply. "Well…"

"Louisa Glasson, my God. What is your plan?"

"Er, well," I bit my lip. "I'd thought that maybe…"

Then it was Liz's turn to sigh. "Louisa! Do you plan on just going back to Cornwall and walking up to him with a babe in arms and say 'Here, this is yours?'"

"Actually, I had thought that maybe…"

"No, Louisa. Stop, right there. A very long time ago I had a steady boyfriend, my first. We were together for three years. His name was Tommy Spencer." She paused for a few seconds. "Then he got a job transfer to Oslo, he jetted back and forth every two weeks, then once – nothing. Not a call, not an email, but I sure tried to contact him. Even left messages at his office."

"What happened, Liz?"

She looked away. "I hadn't seen him for two months then one day he shows up at my house. My mum told me later that he'd shown up an hour before I got home from school. He sat around chatting, trying to seem real casual, but she could tell he was very nervous underneath."

"Where had he been?"

"Working and other things. So when I got home he took me into the garden. Then he said that he'd met someone, and…"

"And?"

"He was getting married and not to me."

"Ohhh… Liz, I'm so sorry!" I patted her hand.

"Yes, a real shocker. The bloody fool had known it for months, and couldn't even call me on his mobile."

"Men," I started to say but she held up her hand.

"Stop. I got over Tommy a long time ago. My point being that he didn't call; didn't even try. I even put him on the spot about it. He finally admitted that he was afraid, scared stiff to call." She sniffed. "Because he didn't want to hurt me."

"Rotter."

Liz whirled and the fire blazed in her eyes. "Louisa, I loved Tommy with all my heart and it took a long time to get over him. He was no rotter – just in a strange place for too long – and he got lonely." She sniffed once more. "Her name was Anya."

I got the point. "So you're saying?"

"You've been gone from Portwenn for four months, right?" She wiped a hand over her eyes then turned to face me. "Seems to me that he's already wandering, and if you really want him back, you may be far too late."

That was when I was nearly twenty-two weeks pregnant. My belly was now quite noticeable, full skirt and bulky jumpers steadily failing to camouflage the reality that Louisa Glasson, London teacher, was well on her way to being a single mum. That fact was not lost on Mr. Prange the administrator of the school.

"Miss Glasson, I asked you here today for a personal chat. You've been a fine teacher, but there have been certain…" he paused, "lapses that are not tolerated here at James Baird."

I stared at the little martinet and felt trapped. Trapped by his eyes, his words, the cold hard confines of the school building, and the baby who was kicking away at my bladder. "Lapses?"

"Yes." He steepled his hands on his spotless desk. "And there have been complaints as well."

"Complaints? From who and about what?"

"Their names are not important. But here at this school we have conduct to uphold, and must set an example for the young minds in our care."

"Will I get a hearing, or…"

"Miss Glasson, I am not about to drag this school into any sort of protracted legal wrangle on whether you are fit to teach here or not. I believe it would be, no _is_ best, for you to leave."

His words echoed around the grim little office. "And just why are you choosing to fire me?"

Prange smiled, his thin lips growing into a sardonic line. "I'm not firing you. You will be choosing to quit our employ immediately."

"You are saying you want me to quit."

"Yes. If you desire I can have your letter of resignation on my desk within a minute. You will only have to sign it and date it. Quick and easy."

"Ah. So I cannot exercise my belief that this action is unfounded? That your reasons are in fact discriminatory? That you are contravening the law that states…"

He held up his well-manicured hand. "Stop right there, Miss Glasson!" He glared at me and went on. "Your predecessor chose to allow his personal life to intrude upon this school, staff, and students."

"Oh, really?" I gasped. "What, did he tie his shoes the wrong way?" Holden had left, suddenly; at first on leave, then just gone.

"No." I could hear him grind his teeth. "He chose to be involved in certain… behaviors that was upsetting to us and to me. And to the students," he added quickly. "You too, will follow that path."

"This is illegal and I'll have you in court!"

Now he smiled an evil and determined grin. "Try and be damned! But don't think for one minute that you and your bastard child will prevail. Yes, I know all about your pregnancy. The students, and parents, and I, do not think that a single woman, who is pregnant, should be teaching in this school."

I was flabbergasted. Why the nerve of this man! But before I could use my gaping mouth for another verbal joust the door opened and his snooty-nosed secretary entered.

"The papers you wanted sir," she said and put them on his desk with a pen at hand. She sneered at me as she left.

Prange picked up the sheets. "Here! Read it. Do what you think is best!" He rose. "The custodian has pasteboard boxes available, if you need one to carry out your possessions." He turned the pages about, and put them in front of me.

I read a lot of legal mumbo jumbo about how the school administrator 'at his discretion' could cancel any employment contract, including mine. It seems that this was a well hidden phrase in my contract. Clearly he held all the cards.

I looked at him and thought how a worm like him could rise to a position of power. Blackmail, extortion, and downright sneakiness came to mind. Not to mention illegalities.

I signed the papers, dated them and stood. "There."

"Thank you Miss Glasson for your cooperation. Please turn in your school keys to my secretary. And you shall not need to worry about your classes for the rest of the day." He looked at his watch. "And just now your class this bell has been taken on a field trip. Please gather your belongings and leave."

He opened the door for me, the rat, and I walked from the office feeling a fool. His secretary gave me a long look. "Keys, please?"

I rummaged in my purse and threw them onto her desk. "I hope you choke on them!" I declared and beat a hasty retreat.

Jaime Waters saw me as I was heading to the door, carrying my small box of personal oddments. "Louisa, I am sorry," she said with sadness. "I'd hoped that Prange would…"

"Would what?" I was too weary for anger. Just terrible disappointment and worry. "Give me a pass on my baby?" It was the first time I'd spoken that word here.

"No Louisa, I mean Holden got in trouble when his wife and his boyfriend showed up and started a row in the school playground, which rapidly made its way inside when he tried to stop them. Seems he'd been carrying on for some time and no one cared. We knew… but when Prange had to speak to the constables… that did it."

I could only stand there open mouthed. "So I'm just one of many…" I gulped, "who has run into trouble with him."

She nodded sadly. "I should have warned you."

I put my hands on my pregnant belly, pulling the fabric tight so my sizeable bump showed. "Do you really think that this little baby, my little baby, would bring down this school?"

Jaime went on in a whisper. "People talk, Louisa. People talk. And just so you know, it wasn't me. Good luck." She swept away as a shark might leave a school of cod that it has decimated.

I took a few steps, pull the outside door open and slammed it behind me. I stood on the pavement, holding my purse, an umbrella, my little box of things, and my leather briefcase. And I wondered what I'd do next. But curiously, I felt free.


	23. Chapter 23

Freedom

I walked towards the tube station and checking the schedule saw that I had fifteen minutes to waste. The sun was peeping through the clouds over the city and it was warming up this morning. I took a seat on a bench in a grassy spot across the station. I arranged my various packages on the bench and tried to relax. In many ways Prange had done me a favor. The conversation I had with Liz the other night began thoughts that had been stirring for a very long time.

Months ago, why didn't I call Martin when I found out I was pregnant? Was I like Liz's ex Tommy and I didn't want to hurt Martin? But then I thought how having a baby could hurt Martin, my ex. I was certain that he would support the baby, well, that is, when I told him, if I told him…

Sitting on the bench, I tried to stay calm, take deep breaths, and think about what I could do. I could find another job. I looked around the busy intersection at the hustle and bustle. I could smell diesel exhaust from the buses and taxis, and hear horns honking, while the breeze blew some trash along the roadway, and there was a very steady stream on people on the pavement.

I could walk down the street outside my cottage and very rarely see a car, and foot traffic was the norm, with the occasional bike or delivery van. The sea breeze was very nice, especially in the summer, and sitting there in London I tried to pretend that the surrounding smells were the scent of ocean air. I closed my eyes and tried to turn what I was hearing and feeling did not exist.

Just then I heard a voice saying, "Luv, anyone sitting here?'

I turned to see an older man, dressed in a suit, carrying a briefcase. His kindly face looked at me inquisitively. He reminded me a bit of Roger Fenn.

I pulled my box and case over to me. "Please, sit."

"Thank you." He said as he sat. "My knee has been acting up." He rubbed it. "But I hope that now that I'm retiring I can stay off all this hard pavement."

"You're retired?"

He smiled. "Yes, just another two days. I'm out of the office just now for a doctor's appointment. It will be nice to be free of the office. Able to do what we wish."

"Nice that you're retiring. So why no hard surfaces?"

"Oh," he started, "I'm retiring to Margate, quite a small town. My wife's family lives nearby, so it will be very nice to be near them."

"That's really interesting! All the way to the east. I'm from Portwenn, in Cornwall."

He laughed. "So we're from opposite sides!" He slapped his knee. "Ow! Shouldn't have done that."

"Sorry." I chuckled. "Moving to the sea. That's really fine." I sighed. "I wish I still lived there."

"Whatever possessed you to move here, girl? All this," he waved at the traffic, "and you gave up the sea?"

" I erh, well, I uh," I stammered.

"Sorry, luv. None of my business."

I looked very long and hard at him. "No that's quite alright."

"Yes, the sea is quite lovely. I shall not miss London, well, maybe miss hordes of pretty ladies like yourself."

I could feel myself blush. "Thank you for saying so."

"No, I mean it," he said. "I suppose your husband is very proud of you."

I put a hand on my belly and looked away. "I'm not married."

"Sorry, I just supposed." He wrung his hands together. "I forget sometimes, that things are different."

"That's quite alright," I said, but I felt myself tear up. "We were engaged…"

"Luv, you don't have to say more."

I couldn't figure out exactly why I was telling him this. "Things didn't work out. And he doesn't know yet," I looked down at my disappearing lap, "that I'm having a baby – his baby."

He nodded slowly. "Sorry. That is about the not working out bit." He looked at his watch. "I must be off. Nice to talk with you." He stood up. "My name is Martin."

I looked at his face in astonishment. "My name is Louisa."

"So nice to meet you Louisa. Well must be off. I could have gone to someone in my practice, but thought it best to see someone else. Been off to another specialist. The knee you know."

"So what do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a doctor. Just call me Doc Martin."

I could only laugh hearing this. So I stood and looked at this man, who must have been sent from above. "Doc Martin?"

"Yes, that's me. Doc Martin. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get to my appointment and then in two days I will be free. Now goodbye, and good luck to you, Louisa and you baby." He touched my belly briefly. "May you have all the luck that that baby can bring you."

I waved as he walked away. I picked up my things, and walked to the station. Free to the sea.


	24. Chapter 24

Departures

I crept into the flat, trying not to wake Liz, but the creaking floor and snick of the front door lock did the trick.

"Louisa? What's wrong?" She called as her bedroom door flew open. She emerged tousled and sleep-ridden. "The only time you come home in the middle of the day is when things have gone wrong! You Ok? The baby is…"

"The baby is fine, Liz. I hope I am too."

"What's gone on?" she stood there in the usual panties but with warmer weather had switched from cami to washed out tanktop. "You have got to stop scaring me like this. So while you summon the courage to tell me what is up, I'll dash to have a wee."

She blitzed away and I heard the toilet flush shortly. She emerged looking quite sad. "This is going to be bad, isn't it?"

I stood up straight. "No. Not at all."

"You are a liar Louisa Glasson!" She took up a confrontational stance with hand on hip. "I can always tell because you chew your bottom lip, just as you are doing right this moment."

She could read me like a book, usually. But not quite this time. "I quit my job!"

"What? Did those people at that dreadful school do something bad?"

Not wanting to go into details I took the easier path. Bert Large saying 'Go with the flow' had taught me something about controlling my emotions. "I have decided to leave."

"On a Wednesday? You're mad, I mean pregnant and mad. Must be the hormones! But there has to a reason! Give!"

I stepped close to her and took her hand. "Liz, you have been a good friend here in London but there is something that I must do. I put her hand on my bump, which was just now shaking with kicks of the contents. "This little gal… well…" I bit my lip, and felt hot tears rush to my eyes. "Needs to be somewhere else and so do I."

She gave me the oddest stare. "Oh, no. Don't tell me."

"Yes." I let go of her hand and sat down on the sofa. "It's time for me to be going."

Liz sat next to me. "Oh, sweetheart. No. I don't want you to go. Stay!" she put arms about me and held me. Her muffled voice went on. "But if you have to, go. Is this like my Tommy?"

I moved my head and looked her straight in the eye. "Yes, I think so."

"What are you going to do?"

"See if I can get a job at my old school, I suppose. Back in Portwenn."

"Gawd, Louisa. Poor little girl from Cornwall, going back home." Liz sighed. "Well, come on. Now that I'm awake, at noon, for God's sake, we might as well have lunch, discuss ways and means and figure out how you'll pull this off."

"But, Liz. You need to sleep; you have to work tonight."

She grinned. "Oh, I don't know… I think I might have a cold coming on." She coughed and we laughed together.

Liz took me to a café around the corner that she liked. It normally was very crowded at night and was expensive, but at noon on a Wednesday, there was no wait.

We settled down to inspect the menus and ordered drinks. We did not discuss the most obvious thing we could discuss. Instead Liz distracted me with stories from the club about Phil the bartender and this long time lady customer named Lee who went home together one night and how Phil got a real surprise when the lights went out… and so on.

All very scandalous of course and totally silly to even consider some of the stories she told me. It was no more odd than Stewart the ranger and his friend Anthony the six-foot squirrel, Peter Cronk the too smart school boy, or Doc Martin the former surgeon afraid of blood.

Liz went on, "So Phil says to Lee, why me, why pick me? And Lee says that I like you. So who's to understand the way these things work? Does anyone understand love?"

"And what did Phil do then?" I asked.

Liz blushed. "He just laughed and changed the subject."

I wondered why she was telling me this weird tale when it hit me. I'd told her about Martin and our relationship, or our rather our lack of relationship. The ups and downs, the times we were together and not, when we got really mad at each other, then something traumatic would force us back together or would tear us further apart.

Liz was animatedly chatting up the waiter, a rather tall good looking fellow, and I sat there and watched the words, postures and body language that weaved the dance of a man and a woman circling the central theme of mating. I got kicked severely about this time and put my hands on my belly. Wasn't this what Liz and Timmy, our waiter's name, were dancing around? The potential or possibility that a man and a woman can create human life? Making a baby? And hopefully do it not just with lust but with love?

Timmy was almost leaning over Liz, pointing out various choice items on the menu, clearly getting a clear view of her cleavage, while she was pressing his arm at the same time.

I sighed. What was I to do about Martin? My little girl or boy would not wait much longer, perhaps another seventeen or eighteen weeks, until they made their appearance. And surely it would all go better after, if they had a father, or at least someone that they knew was their father. My mum and dad did a terrible job, based on what I could knew. The determination grew that somehow I had to get back with Martin. It would be incredibly hard and embarrassing besides!

How could I go back home, yes _home_, with this belly sticking out and not have every village know that Martin and I had, well, did this thing, outside of every normal convention, even for rural Portwenn. And if we had only gotten married then there might not be much gossip. Well, I told myself, you're all set for the biggest village embarrassing homecoming on record!

Tim and Liz were chatting away and I did not exist in their little private world. I laid my plans. Buy a train ticket, pack up what I could not carry with me, have Liz ship my things when I get settled, and just do it.

Where to live? Room at a pub or B&B. I knew from a letter from Maureen Treacy that the school was short a teacher. Not full time, but it would give me something to do. I couldn't teach in London anymore, Prange would see to that, but I really wanted to go home.

And there would be Martin, up the hill from the harbour in the surgery; where he's been all this time.

Did I love Martin Ellingham? We clearly loved each another enough to say the words and start this baby, and try very hard to make it work, and also loved each another enough to realize that getting married would be a disaster. Martin said 'I wouldn't make you happy.' Is that true? I didn't know. The letter I wrote said much the same thing. But still – why did I always think about Martin all the time? And it wasn't just the pregnancy either. If I wasn't having a baby, wouldn't I still think about him?

Liz was staring at Tim with the look that said this would be far more than just a little flirtation. I was already gone, as far as she was concerned.

I didn't want to go from day to day wondering what if? I stood up.

Liz looked up, startled. "Louisa? What's wrong?"

I looked at her and her conquest of the week. "I'm going home."


	25. Chapter 25

Encounter

Martin's questioning words echoed through my head probably brought back those memories. Martin Ellingham stood there in the bedroom doorway with such a look of concern it almost made me cry. I guessed that from his expression his mind was racing through an entire medical encyclopedia of symptoms, facts, and findings.

And the fact that I stood in front of him wearing the most elegant and seductive nightdress that I had ever bought probably didn't even register with him. The thing was so lightweight that the cost would be astronomical if you calculated the cost per weight ratio. But of course, just thinking that way meant that I was trying to think as Martin would, which was very scary.

And as for crying, Philip's cries turned into more of a fussy noise and I turned my head a fraction of a degree.

Martin raced past me and peered into the cot. "Louisa! Are you just going to stand there and let him cry?" He put his large hands in the cot and emerged with the squirming baby, while asking," Are you wet, Philip? Or are you hungry?"

He sniffed and turned up his nose. "More than wet, it seems." He held him out at arm's length as he carried him to the changing table atop the baby chest of drawers, an ancient piece from Aunt Joan. "Let's fix this, shall we?"

And I stood to the side, like a Grecian marble statue, unmoving.

"Looks quite… messy," he started to say. He looked to the side with a disgusted look. "Very… odiferous."

That brought me back to the present. "You mean it stinks, Martin."

"I just said that."

I walked over to him and leaned against his shoulder. "Oh. Ugh. So glad you're fixing that one! Pee-uuu."

Martin looked at me as he plied the baby wipes. "Just wait until we start him on solid food. Pureed vegetables and fruits, I have been told, produce the most amazing smells when infants start on them."

"Perhaps we'll be used to him by then?" I quipped. But I looked up at Martin's face in the half-light I got an idea. "Why don't you give him to me when you're done, and see if he wants to feed. Hasn't been that long, but… well," I touched my chest, "I think I'm able."

"Alright." He finished applying the nappy and picked him up in a two-handed hold. "I think he's ready for you now."

I touched Martin's hands where he held Philip and let my fingers linger there for a moment. His skin was warm. "Thanks, I'll just…"

"I'll, uh, go," he muttered, still holding the baby.

"No, Martin. Just stay. Turn your back please?"

He nodded and turned round. I pulled the wonderful gown off over my head, and shucked into my dressing gown. Granted he had seen me naked but knickers and a nursing bra were not exactly sexy to my mind. "Ok, give him to me."

Martin nodded and handed off our combined DNA. "Where, shall I…"

"You sit in the rocker." I sat on the bed, plumped up the pillows against the headboard, leaned against them, then opened my robe and one side of my bra. As I got ready to feed the baby, Martin started to look away, clearly embarrassed. I sighed. This man needed help in everything, I swear. "Please look at us… at me… Martin. It's ok; really."

He slowly turned his head then crossed his legs and looked nervous. "Louisa, I don't want to intrude…"

"Martin, this is natural, it is perfect, and I want you here."

"Ok," he said, then added nervously, "this is your bedroom."

I shook my head, trying not to laugh and disturb Philip who was settling down. "You've been here before, so shush."

I fed Philip, but he didn't drink much per side then started to doze. I propped him on my shoulder and patted his little back a few times, then a huge gob of spit-up flew from his mouth and I got a bath of the milky stuff. "Agh!" I yelled. "Martin, would you take you son, please?"

Martin sprang from the rocker, all action now. "I'll just take him and clean…"

"Yes, yes! I'll go wash-up. And I think he needs another nappy too." I rose from the now damp bed, knowing how a cheese vat feels. "I should have put a towel over my shoulder."

Martin was wiping the cheesy residue from the baby. "Yes. He has an amazing ability to do that, like all babies."

I'd moved to the wardrobe to get clean nightclothes. Thank God I'd taken off the chiffon gown. That would have been a real disaster. "I'll be in the loo."

"Right," said Martin as he continued to clean Philip.

I gathered my things and took the few steps to the loo. I heard Martin say, "A new nappy for you next, young man. Bad form to do that to your mother."

In the bathroom, I took off the soiled robe and bra. Nothing like a cheesy shower to ruin the evening. It seemed that all my clothing from this time of my son's life would end up smelling like rancid cheese. But what's a mum to do? I stood at the sink washing my neck and chest when I heard a yell. "Martin! What's wrong? Martin?"

Martin dashed in with his hands over his face, a huge wet spot on his pyjama top, mouthing curses. He stumbled into me, pushing me away from the sink.

"Water!" he yelled. "That little," he paused, "…baby… of yours just peed all over me!" He grabbed the taps and opening them plunged his hands under the stream and splashed water on his face.

I could only stand there holding a washrag and towel while the drama played out. I tried not to laugh. "Oh, Martin… he went…"

"Yes!" he gurgled. "In the face, down the chest. Full on. Like a bloody fire hose! I'd just put him in the cot, fresh nappy, and it wasn't settled right. I was refastening that side, when he got me square in the face!" He blubbered while splashing.

Then I did laugh, and loudly. Martin turned with a fiery look in his eyes. "Louisa! Stop!"

I stared at him as water dripped from his face and hair, t-shirt sopping wet and I laughed again. I couldn't help it. I stood there letting huge laughs come out of my mouth.

His face twisted up as I laughed at him, but the sneer disappeared and his eyes focused and his face relaxed. "Louisa! Louisa." He stopped for a few seconds. "You're beautiful."

That's when it struck me that I was standing on the cold tile, naked from the waist up, my hair stringy from the rough wash-up. "Martin? You said I'm beautiful?"

Martin gulped. "Oh, my, yes." He stood two feet away as he looked me over from top to toe. He put out a hand to touch my hip. "You have stretch marks here and over here." He touched my belly button.

I looked down at the few thin silvery lines on my skin. "Yes… battle scars."

Martin and I looked at one another, frozen.

I broke the moment. "Martin, is Philip…"

"He's quiet. Managed to get him strapped up after he let me have it."

"Oh."

"Louisa?" His fingers still touched my skin. "Battle scars?"

My heart broke. "Love is a battle field, silly," was all I could say.

We reached for one another and it was like coming home. I didn't mind the wet shirt and I hoped that he didn't mind the changes of my body. At least our kiss said that was the case. Martin let me go after a time, so I took the towel I held and dried his face and neck. I looked very hard at the father of my baby; our baby. "Take off this wet shirt, will you?"

He pulled it off over his head and flung it to the floor onto my robe and brassiere. "Better?" he asked.

"Yes."

We threw our arms around each other, and started to say things. Words like, _love, _and_ I'm sorry, _and_ dearest…_but just then there came a furious pounding on the front door with a voice crying out. "Doc? Doc Martin! We need help! Doc?"


	26. Chapter 26

Handy

Martin threw on a robe and tore downstairs while I pulled on jeans and a jumper. Philip was peacefully sleeping, in spite of the uproar upstairs and the tumult below. As I dressed I could hear frantic voices with Martin's deep tones interspersed.

I hurried down to see Kendra Gwinnel slumped at the kitchen table, her frantic husband Edwin by her side. They were a couple in their late fifties, who'd moved to Portwenn to run a gift shop ten years ago. I hadn't seen them since I returned to Portwenn and they were usually such cheery people. But Kendra was writhing in pain as Martin touched her right hand. They were in their night clothes; Kendra wearing a long, flowery dressing gown with Edwin in boxers and a shirt.

"How long has this hand been like this?" barked out Martin.

"It started two days ago!" Kendra answered. "I was carrying boxes into the back room, just as Edwin was coming through, and he swung open the door just as I got there!"

"Gave her a hell of a whack on the hand! Sorry, sweetie!" filled in Edwin. His face was drawn with concern as he looked at Kendra who had tears running.

Kendra looked at him from under long gray bangs. "Not your fault. Got me just here." She pointed to the back of her hand which was greatly swollen and sported a blackish mark. "God, Doc it hurts so bad!" she yelled. Her hand looked like a balloon with sausage-like fingers. "My fingers are all tingly too!"

Martin looked at the huge hand on the table, examining it from all sides. "How long's it been like this?"

Edwin said, "Since about seven tonight Doc! Kendra went to see Doc Exley yesterday morning and he wiggled it around. Told her to keep it wrapped, put ice on it and take paracetamol too. Did that all yesterday and today then this ugly thing just sort of popped up."

"Did he say anything else? Exley, I mean?" Martin had picked up her arm was rotating it. "This hand is enormous!"

"Exley said it was just a sprain. Take a few days to get better." Edwin went on. "And seein' as we couldn't reach him…"

"What?" Martin roared.

"Exley won't answer his mobile! Called him a few times, but with Kendra hurtin' so badly, thought we'd better come to you!" Edwin answered.

"Why not hospital in Wadebridge?" Martin asked.

"Our car's got a flat tyre," answered Kendra. "One's had a slow leak for weeks. Edwin keeps pumping it up every day or so."

"We had to come to you Doc!" Edwin threw in. "When Kendra started vomiting from the pain, we had to do something, right?"

"Right," Martin said resignedly. Then he looked over at me. "Louisa! Get my bag, and bring that bottle of rubbing alcohol from the bathroom as well."

I ran upstairs and brought back the things. "Martin, what's going on?"

He drew out a blunt pin from his case. "Mrs. Gwinnel! Tell me if you feel this – sharp or dull? Look over at your husband, not at me!" He poked and stroked her fingers one by one.

"Ok, Doc. Anytime," she said.

Martin looked up at me. "No sensation. None!" His eyes were huge.

Kendra's eyes grew wide too. "Maybe it's the pain? Blocking the nerves?"

"No, that's not it!" He touched her hand again where the fingers were white and blanched. "Your hand is like ice!"

"Yeah, Doc, we been putting ice on it, doesn't seem to help much, though," Edwin answered.

"You idiot!" exploded Martin. "This is frostbite! You've frozen the back of her hand! She'll likely need a skin graft now! Mrs. Gwinnel, do you smoke? Are you on blood thinners or anti-cholesterol medications?"

"No meds. But I do smoke - down to two packs a day now. Been trying to cut down."

Martin grimaced. "Smoking can cause vasoconstriction of the blood vessels of the extremities, which would aggravate the action of ice applied for a long time."

Husband turned to wife. "Oh, Kendra, I'm so sorry!"

"You can apologize later!" yelled Martin.

"Edwin… I ... oh Doc can you help me?" Her head fell towards her lap, cradling her arm. "Feels like my arm is being cut off!"

"Louisa!" barked Martin. "Quick! Hot water, soap, and a scrubbing brush! Get scrubbing this table!"

"Martin, what are you going to do?" I asked.

"Have to operate! She's got compartment syndrome. The impact of the door must have given her a sprain of the hand. Muscles and other tissues are encased in a membranous sheath. If there is leakage of blood or other fluid inside the sheath, the pressure builds, and the increased pressure must be compressing her medial nerve! If I don't release the pressure the nerve and other tissues may die!"

"Die Doc? You mean like no hand?" asked Edwin. "You'll operate here? In the cottage?"

"Yes! If you hadn't messed about with Exley the new GP or gone to hospital or called me earlier this could have been avoided!" Martin looked at his watch. "Been three and a half hours since the onset of intense pain?"

The man nodded. "Yes, about."

"Right!" he looked at me. "Get scrubbing this table!"

Kendra looked at Martin with consenting eyes. "Anything you need to do, you do it."

Martin looked at her and then over her head to me, as I drew water and got the soap out. I could see the unease on his face. "I'll do my best," he said sadly.

As I scrubbed the table I had to ask him a question. "Martin?" I whispered. "Can't we just drive her to Wadebridge? What about the ambulance?

"No. No time," he whispered back to me. "Almost too late now. She might lose her whole hand, if not use of it if I don't do something and right away! We'll get her to Wadebridge after I decompress that hand. She'll need treatment for the frostbite as well."

The table was scrubbed to within an inch of its life and dried. Martin had Kendra place her arm across it after we liberally doused the table with the rubbing alcohol as a disinfectant.

"Sorry Louisa, I fear this table won't be fit anymore after…"

"Yes, Martin. I understand."

"Now, Mrs. Gwinnel, I'll infiltrate your hand and wrist with local anesthetic. I'll then make an incision on the palm and the back of the hand. These will be small, and should heal well, later. Don't be concerned about scarring. That can be fixed, if needed."

Edwin poked his voice into the discussion. "Don't you worry, Doc, you just do it. You'll be able to do this?"

Kendra looked hard at Martin. "What choice do we have, Edwin? The new GP is out of touch but Doc Martin will fix me, won't you?"

"We're right lucky that Doc Martin is at hand, don't you think?" Edwin said and went on. "Sorry about the joke Doc."

Martin looked up as he was administering the local. "What's that?"

Edwin looked at me with a gleam in his eye. "He don't have much of a sense of humor does he?'

Kendra slapped his arm lightly. "Don't make jokes now for God's sake!"

Edwin looked at his wife. "Sorry luv. Sorry Doc. Sorry Louisa for making fun." He kissed Kendra's face next. "Oh, sweetheart…"

I spoke up. "Edwin, it's alright. Ready Martin?"

Martin looked where he'd laid out a scalpel, and some gauze. "Right. Mrs. Gwinnel, your hand should now be totally numb. I'll make incisions here and here." He pointed to two spots. "Right.'

He slipped on surgical gloves and took a deep breath. "Louisa and Mr. Gwinnel could you please brace the patient just as you are doing. Ready Mrs. Gwinnel?"

Martin glanced up at me as I braced her shoulders. "He'll take good care of you Kendra." I patted the side of her neck.

"I know he will," she said. "But I can't stand the sight of blood."

"Pity," answered Martin grimly. "Neither can I. You may look away. I shall not."

He picked up the scalpel and looked at the edge. "Not as sharp as I'd like. Hm." He laid her now numb hand onto one of my clean tea towels. "Try not to move, please." He made a two centimeter slice along the back of her hand and the tissue gaped open. "Through the layers of the fascia, now here is the, yes, you can see how the membrane is distended…"

With a clunk, Mr. Gwinnel crashed to the floor. Kendra looked down at her husband. "He doesn't like the look of blood either. Hm, I didn't know that."

"Martin, I don't think you need to make it a lecture." I told him and I could see sweat on his face. "Are you ok?"

"I'll get through it." He pierced the yellow white membrane and blood and puss started to spurt out. He taped a gauze square to it then turned her hand over. He gulped loudly and looked away for a few seconds. "Right. Now for the palm. The puss is degraded cells from the freezing, by the way."

He looked up and I could see more tension on his face. Luckily Kendra was staring at the floor. "Almost done," he said while looking at me.

"Martin! You can do this," I said to him.

He breathed deeply. "Yes. You're right," he answered. He laid the knife on the flesh and laid it open in an s-shape. He poked about in the wound as blood squirted out followed by another square of gauze. Martin's eyes bulged and his lips were pressed tightly together. "There." He dropped the scalpel and ran out to the terrace.

"It's alright, Kendra. He's done it." I could hear Martin being violently sick outside.

Kendra slumped back into the chair and my arms. "Doc Martin can really vomit can't he?"

"Yes." I said and smiled at her. "He's not like other doctors."

Kendra made a deep sigh. "I know." She looked at her hand, appearing smaller in size already. "I don't know that anyone else could have done it, do you?"

I could hear more barfing into the bushes. "No, I don't." I said proudly.


	27. Chapter 27

Eye to Eye

It was early in the morning when Martin returned from Wadebridge after transporting Kendra and Edwin to Hospital. I heard him come in around six thirty. I'd dozed but I hadn't slept, so I quickly got up when I heard the door open.

"Martin, how is Kendra Gwinnel doing?" I asked him.

Martin looked at me with sleep-deprived eyes, as he slumped in a chair. "Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Yes. The compartment decompression was a success, luckily." He sighed. "The frostbite though…"

I shook my hand sadly and said, "Her hand didn't look very good, did it?"

"No. She'll likely need a graft, for the worst of it. The tissue was quite destroyed on the back of her hand." He slapped one hand on another. "If Exley had taken more care..." he paused and looked over at my kitchen table, "I'd not have to buy you a new table, now would I?"

I strode and patted his head, which was drooping. "Tough night, Martin."

"Yes." He looked up with bleary eyes. "Did you sleep?"

"Not much." I sat on the arm of the chair and he put an arm around me. "Worried about Kendra. You too."

"Me?" he started. "Why about me?"

"Because I know how hard you take these things, Martin." I hugged him. "Now let's get you off to bed."

Martin looked at his watch. "I have a meeting in Truro in two hours. I'd best shower and shave."

I shook a finger in his face. "No! You are going to get some rest, call them and say you had an emergency. You're exhausted."

"No worse than being a house doctor. Manys a time I went a day and a half without sleep in training."

"Go upstairs and clean up, at least, Martin. No!" I stamped my foot. "You are worn out and you are staying here if I have to sit on you and tie you up! I'll call Chris and tell him what happened, that you can't make the meeting."

Martin stood up with a wobble. "Parsons already knows what happened. I called him after we got Kendra evaluated in Wadebridge. She might still have some neurological deficits in that hand. I thought it best that the Head of the PCT knew."

"Why bring in Parsons?" I felt a wave of fear. "Are you accusing Ian Exley of doing wrong?"

"No. I was merely reporting the facts. Needed to let my boss know I had performed emergency hand surgery on a kitchen table when Portwenn's GP was unavailable. " He kissed my forehead and headed for the stairs. "And Louisa? About last night…"

I had wondered how he'd deal with our bathroom encounter. "Yes, Martin?" I bit my lip.

"I, uh…" he paused. "I still think you're beautiful," he added softly.

I stood taken aback as he plodded upstairs. I called Parsons later and told him Martin would not be coming in to Truro that day, shut off mine and Martin's mobiles, and settled down to rest. I did not get my wish. Around eleven that morning there came a knock on the door; really more of a pounding.

Doctor Ian Exley stood outside and his face was quite red.

"Hello, Doctor Exley, can I help you?" I said, but I knew this might not be a great thing to see him.

"I need to talk to Doctor Ellingham. Now!" he said harshly.

"I'll see if he's awake. Come in." But before I could move, Martin was at my side.

"Ah, Exley," he said. "Came to talk?"

"Yes," Ian said. "About Kendra Gwinnel, if I may." He turned to me. "Can I come in from the street?"

I opened the door and the two doctors squared off looking at each other. One in khakis and in green shirt; the other in suit pants and vest. Chalk and cheese.

Exley started. "I'd like an update on my patient."

Martin sneered. "Oh? Which one?" he asked. "The one you saw in your office for a simple sprain two days ago or the one that I operated on last night on that table," he pointed, "to save her hand?" He waved his arms about. "The one that you did not attend last night as you were apparently TOO BUSY to answer your mobile!"

"Now wait a minute!" Exley answered. "I was… erh…"

"Doing what, Exley? Crochet, a long walk, or just too tired?" Martin shouted. "The woman could have lost her hand!" Now red in the face he loomed over the shorter Exley. "Answer that Doctor Exley, Portwenn's new GP!"

I threw myself between them, facing Martin. "Martin! Please don't…"

Doctor Exley stopped me. "No, Miss Glasson, he's right!" He turned to go. "But I don't have to answer to you, Doctor Martin."

"Well, you'll bloody well answer to the PCT!"

"I know," Exley said softly. "Parsons and one of the commissioners called me this morning. They are asking rather pointed questions."

"Oh, good!" said Martin sarcastically.

I interrupted. "Martin, Ian! Come on now! No need to be so… well…"

"Angry?" asked Martin.

"Upset," answered Ian.

"No. Enemies! Boys, you are men of medicine. Now co-operate!" I took them both by the elbows and pushed. "Now go sit there in those two chairs and I'll make us some coffee. And no more yelling either, you'll wake the baby. Be nice, please."

As the coffee maker gurgled the two docs looked at each other like people from different planets seeing each other for the first time. Like gods with threatening eyes of fire. But I know what _I_ saw.

One doctor was proud and regretful and now kicking himself for turning over his practice to a young pup. The other doctor saw a rival, a meddling old fool, trying to bugger up the new practice he was trying to build.

Worse, they hated each other for what they were.

Healers both, but the younger was jealous of the other's experience and skill, while the second one smarted over the callow youth, who had made a mistake that had gone horribly wrong, leaving it to the older one to fix it.

I put coffee mugs, sugar, milk, and the coffee pot onto a tray, and as I walked to serve them, what I really wanted to do was to knock their heads together.


	28. Chapter 28

The Way It Is

The coffee was hot and so were their tempers. They sat on opposite sides of the table where the events of last night had happened. I'd thrown a polythene sheet over it to hide the stains and poured coffee for them. Ian added sugar but Martin took milk only. Ian Exley then was looking past Martin, who was craning his head around, looking at him intently. I could tell that Martin was analyzing something, but I didn't know what.

As I sat down between them, Ian started speaking. "Ellingham, listen, what I do on my own time is no concern of yours!"

"What are people, your patients, supposed to do when they have a problem?" Martin retorted.

Ian looked daggers at him. "They can bloody well call hospital or drive there!"

"You have to answer the call! You can't just act as if you don't …" blurted out Martin but I jumped in to the fray.

"So Doctor Exley, I understand that you used to work in a group practice?" I asked sweetly trying to deflect their anger. "So Portwenn is a big change."

"I don't know how you know that, but it's true. I was in a London multi-disciplinary practice." Ian answered.

"Ah, so there was someone available…" I started.

Exley nodded. "Yes. But last night... I was … unavailable."

"Just what were you up to, Exley?" yelled Martin. "I'd have thought there's not much for you to do after surgery closes!"

Ian jumped up. "Like you've never made a mistake? You bloody arse - all high and mighty…"

"Yes! I'm always perfect," Martin said looking up at the young doc. "Buggered up that constable, now didn't I? Total balls up! I'd expect you to bring that up!"

They eyed one another like fighting dogs in a ring. "Doctors!" I shouted and Philip started to cry upstairs. "Now, look what you've done," I hissed, "woke my son! Fools! Both of you!" I stomped upstairs and picked up the baby. Surprisingly there was shocked silence below, as we went back downstairs.

Martin and Ian, who was sitting down now, looked abashed, but they didn't look at each other. I sat between them bouncing the baby on my knee. "See, Philip, our two very nice doctors are trying to get along. Isn't that fine?"

Martin sneered a bit as Ian hung his head.

"Exley, look…" said Martin, "Portwenn is a small village…"

"Yes, I know," said Ian.

Martin went on, "And there's a whole lot to medicine here beyond a pat on the head, an elastic wrap and some pills for a sprain. Even if Edwin Gwinnel hadn't gone overboard on the ice, his wife's hand would still very likely developed a compartment compression." He shook his head. "They might be fools at times, but if you'd reinforced to call you if problems developed, it would have gone better."

Exley nodded slowly. "That's what the commissioning board said. Warned me right out!" He looked at the ceiling. "But I'm not used to…"

The silence grew. Martin turned to me and patted my knee under the table. "Being on your own," Martin finished for him.

Ian nodded. "Right." A deep sigh. "And I left…erh…"

"Someone?" I asked.

Ian turned to me with puppy dog eyes. "Who told you?"

"Just guessed." I pushed Philip towards him. "Doctor Exley, Ian, look at this little boy. I have to know that if I call you, you'll answer; that if or when he gets sick, I can reach you."

Doctor Exley reached across the table and rearranged a tiny blue sock which was slipping off Philip's foot. "Yes," he said sadly. "That's the way it is. The way I'll have to act."

"Right. Exactly," began Martin, "the way it has to be."

I looked at Ian and saw something I hadn't seen before. His lower lip was quivering and I saw his eyes well up. Was he lonely? Afraid? Uncertain? Probably all three. "There is something you can do for me." I asked him.

He cleared his throat. "Yes?" he answered, but wouldn't look me in the face.

"Could you please help Martin take this table outside?" I asked. "I fear we won't be using it for meals anymore."

That hit him like a brick in the face. "This table… you mean, it's where?"

"Right," said Martin. "Mrs. Gwinnel's procedure."

Ian Exley blew out a shaky breath. "Ok." He stood. "Thanks for the coffee, Miss Glasson. Come on Martin, let's start cooperating. Shall we?"

Martin stood also and they looked at each other across the battered wood table. "Yes. Cooperation." He stuck out his hand.

Ian took his hand and the handshake looked heartfelt to me. "Ok, boys, now that you've made up get to this table now. I'll hold the door for you." I got out of the way, me and Philip, while they lifted and hauled it out the back door. "Just put it there. I'll have it taken to the tip later."

Martin examined the table. "Should be disinfected once more."

"Burned I'd think," added Ian. They looked at each other in apparent agreement. "Now if I could wash up?" said Ian.

"Yes, please." I waved him to the sink, where he scrubbed.

Martin waited his turn, thoughtfully taking a hand towel from Ian. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now I'll get back to the…"

"Yes," nodded Martin.

"And I'll be off to Wadebridge later to see Mrs. Gwinnel."

"Good." Martin went on. "Let me know how she is doing. And if there's anything…"

"Thank you. I'll call you." Ian looked at the floor. "Sorry I stormed over here this morning. I apologize."

"That's alright," I answered for Martin who stood to the side stiffly.

"One thing more," Ian went on, "I've had a few more issues with Pauline. I think our Miss Lamb is going to quit. Perhaps if you talked to her, Martin or even Louisa? And the fool woman won't tell me what the hell is going on."

I looked at Martin who just rolled his eyes and tossed his head. "We'll see what we can do."

"Thank you, both." Ian sighed. "Well I'll be off. Bye."

I closed the door behind him and turned to see Martin looking at the sea. I went and took his hand. It was cool and dry. "Exley's a mess, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Problem?"

"Not sure," Martin said. "Did you notice how dilated his eyes were?"

"Sort of. What's that mean?"

"Not sure," he said then walked upstairs.

I've known Martin Ellingham for several years and safe to say that when he says he is 'not sure' about something, he is lying. And why was Pauline going to quit the surgery?


	29. Chapter 29

Nasty Things

The next day Martin went to his new job in Truro, grumbling all during his morning prep that he hated the drive, the bloody imbeciles would be lined up to chat him up, why did he take the bloody job, and so on. One of the many things I could count on Martin Ellingham to do was to let his feelings be known; at least in the complaint department.

As for other realms of emotion when he left that morning I was slumped with my head over toast and jam, and I practically had to tackle him to get a hug and a kiss as he dashed out the door. In the same house, sharing one loo and shower, one baby too, but still sleeping in two beds.

Our brief moments of passion in the loo, and then the Gwinnel's came pounding on the door, the surgery that ruined my table, a long lonely night, and the tête-à-tête with Doctor Exley, we'd not really had a chance to continue our _conversation_. I wiped my eyes and sobbed for a moment. Stop it Louisa! I said to myself. But what was I going to do?

I sighed as I cleared away breakfast dishes and made plans. I'd go to market and the fishmonger, needed to pick up some things from Mrs. Tishell, and if I had the time try to talk to Pauline, but I should likely start with Al Large.

I got ready, fed Philip and played with him, strapped him into the baby carrier and we set off. At _The Large Restaurant_, Bert was carrying in produce from his van.

"Morning, Bert! How are you?" I asked.

His beefy face broke into a broad smile when he saw us. "Louisa! My goodness girl, how you shine this morning!"

I was wearing one of my mid-preggars skirts with a sweater set and the colors, green pastels, went well together. "Thank you, kindly, sir! Just what a new mum likes to hear!"

He bent over the carrier. "And little Philip!" he now whispered. "How is this bouncing baby doing?" He cocked his head from side to side. "Ah, asleep. Reminds me of when my boy Al was this size. A bit bigger he was when his mum… died… but I remember indeed I do!" He sniffed and cleared his throat.

I patted his arm. "Bert… it still hurts, doesn't it?"

Bert pulled a much used kerchief from a pocket and dabbed his eyes. "No, no, Louisa. Just allergies, you know." He sniffed. "They been botherin' me something fierce."

"Have you been to see Doctor Exley about it?" Nothing ventured.

"Nah, just… well, you know… I did hear that the other day Doc Exley was out of communication, as it were, or somethin' and Mrs. Gwinnel had to come see your Doc Martin about it."

I sighed. "Yes, that is true. That was an emergency. Martin didn't really want to…"

"That's not what I heard," said Bert. "Seems to me that…"

I shook my head, pony tail flinging about. "No! Bert, just go see the man, will you? You do remember when Doctor Ellingham was getting started? All weird and everything?"

Bert chuckled and his entire body shook. "Yes, yes. Poor bugger. Poor Doc Martin. Bodmin." He paused and scratched his head. "You're right, of course." He broke into a smile. "I'll go up there this morning and sneeze all over him. Give him something to do."

I kissed his cheek. "You're a dear, Bert large. Knew I could count on you."

"Thankee, mum," he beamed. "Now if you don't mind these here lettuces and carrots won't carry themselves inside. Best be to 'em."

I turned to go. "Is Al in?"

"Yes," Bert's face fell. "There's summat goin' on there. Things with Paul are off, if you know what I mean, and Al is none too happy. I heard the two of 'em going at one another the other night, and I don't mean in the bedroom, either. All verbal." He shook his head. "Al was washing down the terrace when I last looked. Go down, dear, and give him a chat. Lad is a sorry bugger today. Maybe he'll talk to you."

I followed the sounds of a hosepipe spraying water on the flagstones of the restaurant terrace. Al was grimly playing a stream of water back and forth, and from the look on his face you'd think he was watching the ocean rise and flood all of Portwenn. He saw me and Philip approach and shut off the stream.

"Louisa Glasson and little Philip. How nice to see you." He said sadly.

"Morning Al! Nice day for a wash up."

He squinted at the blue sky. "Yes, another fine summer day. I asked Pauline if she wanted to take the day off and go on a picnic, but…" he stopped and started coiling the hose.

Just as Bert had said. Off. "A problem, then?"

"No, not really." He put the hosepipe into a storage bin and came back over. "How about some juice, eggs, whatever we've got?"

A puffing Bert walked past us hauling vegetables.

"Hadn't you better help your dad?" I asked.

Al grinned. "Exercise is good for him. He's lost another half-stone." He took my elbow. "Come on; let's get you some juice."

We sat at one of the outdoor tables and admired the sea view. The tide was in and the boats were out. The juice was good; ice cold and apple, and as I drank it, Bert plopped some fresh scones on the table.

"Eat up you two! Bought 'em fresh today and if you or Al don't eat 'em I'll be tossin' 'em to those seagulls," he added.

Al drooped over a mug of black coffee and his face was hard. He sighed.

"Al, you are definitely not very happy."

"Oh? Really? I hadn't noticed." He twirled the mug on the table. "No, you're wrong. Everything is brilliant. Wouldn't change a thing."

I shook my head. "Oh, come on, tell me what's going on with you and Pauline. You'd mentioned the other day, they weren't ideal."

That made him laugh. "Ideal they are not, Louisa. I told you how she was working extra hours and such. Doesn't say a whole lot. But what she does say is that everything she had done for Doc Martin, is now _wrong_. And then the other day, she gets this letter in the mail, and she was all hush-hush about it. I didn't see who it was sent from, but she pulled it from the pile and 'went for a walk.'" He drained his coffee and slammed the mug onto the table.

"Oh, dear. And she won't talk to you about it? The letter or Doctor Exley?"

"No. The only thing she'd say about it was 'she missed the blood.'" Al stood up. "You can stay as long as you like, Louisa, but I'd better start on the lunch things. Great to see you." He bent and kissed my cheek then leaned over the sleeping Philip. "What's it like to have one of these little things?"

Before I could even think of an answer to disguise fatigue and hard work, not to mention the nastiness of Martin when I came back to Portwenn pregnant, and trying to get back in the villager's good graces, he spoke again. "Always wanted to have kids someday; just to be a dad, you know?"

I could only sit there and watch his back as he disappeared into the building. Curious. Bert came outside.

"See?" he started. "Every time I try to talk to him or to Paul, they act odd. They're together, but they're not, you know? How was the juice?"

"Fine, Bert. Very nice."

He looked over his shoulder at the open kitchen door. "I wish I could say the same about my boy and his girl." He dropped his voice. "That's one thing about being a plumber. _Most_ nasty things you can flush down a pipe. But people… bah, they back up on you!" Bert laughed. "A fine mess."

"Well, if they won't talk, what can we do?"

His heavy face wrinkled up as he thought. "I don't know, Louisa. But you being a teacher and all…" he stopped, patted my hand, and winked. "You'll find a way."


	30. Chapter 30

Shopping

I knew that Pauline would be busy in the surgery and I hoped to catch her on a lunch break so I went down the hill to the chemist. Mrs. Tishell was her usual stiff necked self, which I think would be true even without the foam collar she wore all the time, the result of a very old neck injury. She was all over me looking at the baby, but there was still a good batch of resentment I had against her.

"Oh, Louisa! He's darling," she began, "so sweet. What a sleeping angel." She peered up at me from where she bent over the baby. "You are a very lucky lady. Do you know that?"

There was that 'l' word again. Luck. "Thank you Sally for saying so." I didn't especially feel lucky. I selected the items I needed, mostly some salve and cotton balls and toothpaste. "He's generally a good baby."

"I'd think he'd be right as rain! Martin's little baby… erh, of course you had a lot to do with it, didn't you?"

"Just a little." I smiled. More than a little, but Sally had no children, and she still adored Martin. No sense in stirring her up.

Sally rose from where she had crouched over the infant carrier and gave me a very concerned look. "Things alright… at home? I mean between you and Doctor Martin?"

"Yes, we're fine, and all."

She pursed her lips and sighed. "Sally, what's done is done," she said very quietly. "Louisa, I… just want to say…" her lips trembled and a hand went to her mouth. "I'm very sorry for the way I treated you last week. Not my place!" She turned away and sniffed.

Oh dear. What could I do but say, "Sally, that's alright. Don't get too upset."

"No, no! It was very mean of me, and I'm sorry. I apologize!" She sniffed and blew her nose. "I'm just a silly old…"

"Mrs. Tishell!" I said in my best head teacher's voice. "Now stop. Let's just be friends, can't we?" Here I waltzed in to the shop mad and then end up comforting her. Sometimes you just have to do the right thing. I patted her back. "It's alright, really."

She sagged against my shoulder and dripped tears on it. "Louisa, I, well…" she said and stood up straight. "I always knew you had class, girl." She squinted at me in the fluorescent lighting. "No, you're not a girl, you're a woman and a mum too." Sally patted my arm.

The door opened and Mrs. Mills came in, luckily ending this awkward moment. "Oh, Louisa!" she gushed. "Just the person I wanted to see. Oh and here's the baby!" More gushy - gooey words followed, but I tuned her out.

I handed my bank card to Mrs. Tishell and she got the message.

Mrs. Tishell might have a crush on Martin, but she was not stupid. "Oh, yes, Louisa, let me ring the card through, so you can get on. I know you're in a hurry."

"Must you dash?" blurted out Kathleen Mills. "I've barely seen your baby and I so wanted to hear more about how Doc Martin and Doc Ian are getting on. Surely you must know?" Mrs. Mills was all sweetness and light but inside her beat the heart of a true gossip and trouble maker.

"Here you go, Louisa," said Sally. "Make sure you get these out to Joan Norton, straight away, will you?" She winked slyly. "Wouldn't want her to run out. Now shoo! Off you go! Mrs. Mills, how can I help you this morning?"

I made my escape, while looking down at Philip, who suddenly awoke with a start. "Sorry, Philip," I said to my son. "There are monsters about; beware!"

Philip responded by crying. So it was up the hill, change him, feed him and then to the school. Philip had a full stomach, and me a flatter chest, and I moved with ease into the building. I could hear a floor polisher whirring down the way as I entered. The place was empty, too empty. I glanced down at the baby. "Soon enough, Philip, I'll have to get you a nanny. Just a few weeks off, now."

Perky Alicia was in the office, blonde hair draped over her face, as she slaved over a file.

I surprised her. "Problem?"

"Louisa! Hi! How's Phil?" she replied.

"Philip, please." I hated nicknames.

"Sorry. Come in to check things out?"

"Yes. Thought I just stop by to say hello."

"Well, hello. David is polishing the floors down the way and the roofers were about earlier with the loose flashing up there." She pointed to the ceiling. "Still bangs a bit when the wind gets up."

"Old building."

"Well, Louisa, soon enough you will be back at the helm. And I heard that Judy Ellis might be looking for a day job. She might be interested in helping you when school starts. Seems like her boyfriend Davey Faull up and joined the Royal Marines and I heard she's likely preggers too."

News I hadn't heard. "They, uh, are they going to…"

"Get married?" Alicia's eyes brightened. "Yes, when he gets leave. Poor things. What a way to start out as a couple!" Alicia turned a horrified look to me. "God! Louisa! I didn't mean to say that…"

"Alicia!" I cut her off. "People have to deal with these things." I put Philip onto the desk. "Watch him for a minute will you?"

Before she could answer, I left the office. I followed the sound of the polishing machine. David the janitor was whistling a merry tune as he worked. He switched the machine off when he saw me.

"Miss Glasson! Good morning! Thing are looking mighty fine on this here floor. I'll have the old school all spic and span by the time the session starts."

"Looks very nice, David. How are you keeping?"

"Fine. Fine. Those roofers are up on top banging about. Can't say I like the looks of 'em very much."

"Why's that?"

He looked around sneakily. "Seems to me like some of their ladders look a bit shaky. I'd not trust 'em."

"Maybe that's why you're not a roofer!"

"Aye, true. Well Miss the school's not paying me to be jawing about."

"Thanks David. See you!" I heard the machine start up behind me as I went down the hall.

Alicia was holding the baby when I went back.

She beamed as I entered. "Louisa, I just love your little boy."

"I do too."

"And about my rudeness, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." I took Philip back and left.

To the markets next. Fish from the fishmonger, rolls from the baker, and potatoes and broccoli sounded good. Plus those lovely custard tarts the baker's wife had been setting out.

The grocer smiled broadly. "Louisa, good to see you! Baby fine and all?"

"Yes, Frank, we're all well." I almost believed it myself.

He scratched his head. "I was talking to Joe Penhale the other day and he was tellin' me about that crash that your Martin attended. How's he doing? And then that business with Kendra Gwinnel? Looks like Doc Martin is still trying to be the GP."

I felt the heat flow to my face. "Is that what people are saying?"

He recoiled. "Well no, just call's it like I see's it. No harm meant. Must be hard for Exley and Ellingham both. Doc Martin off to Truro and here's Doc Ian going Bodmin in Portwenn. Bah! Listen to me, nattering on like an old tattle." He dropped his eyes. "Sorry. I do go on."

"It's alright. Well," I smiled at him, "best be off."

Tired now, I dragged myself to the cottage, carrying the baby and my purchases. I saw an occasional head peep up on the school roof as I passed. I probably should have introduced myself to the foreman – David's concern foremost in my mind.

I made a note to call Judy Ellis and see if she might me able to watch Philip when school started. She had sense, was smart, and lively. In fact she reminded me of me. Does her budding pregnancy have anything to do with the idea, Louisa? Maybe.

The groceries went to cabinet and fridge and I checked my watch. If Doctor Exley was keeping a similar schedule to Martin, then he'd break for lunch in a while. I played with Philip a bit, making the little toy doggy bark across his chest, and he almost grabbed it. "Good boy, Philip! And I don't care what your daddy says we will get you some puppies to play with. How about a nice Sheltie? Wouldn't that be nice?"

Thinking about dogs, babies, and daddies, I made way to the Portwenn surgery, happily getting there just as Pauline came out and locked the front door.

"Pauline, hi! Care to join me for lunch?" I called to her back.

Pauline turned and her eyes brightened as she saw me and Philip. She took three steps and hugged me. Then she staretd crying.


	31. Chapter 31

A Promise

I put an arm around her, the other weighed down by the carrier with Philip in it. "Oh, Pauline… hi, uhm… let's go somewhere we can talk."

Pauline nodded her ginger head. "Not the restaurant!" she sniffed. "Sorry."

The second time today someone had cried on my shoulder. "No. The pub then. It's alright."

The Crab was not that busy midday, so we had as much privacy as we were likely to get in town. I ordered food and drinks while Pauline went to the loo. By the time she came to the table, she was composed, at least outwardly.

"Ah, Louisa, look at the baby!" She was holding Philip in her lap. "He's so soft – smells nice too." He looked at her with wide eyed wonder as he gurgled.

I reached over and smoothed the few hairs he had on his head. "Today he's being very good, aren't you Philip? Of course, sometimes he keeps us up all night."

She chuckled. "I was wonderin' about that. How's Martin helping out? Or is he all…"

"No Pauline, he helps us a great deal. Cooking, cleaning, that sort of thing."

"Oh." She sighed. "Is that all?"

"No, well…" I bit my lip. "It's a bit complicated."

Pauline shook her red tresses. "I know. Men are so…"

"Weird?"

She paused. "Yeah. Like they can be sweet sometimes and other times so selfish? Like all that guff Martin gave you when you came back."

"Yes. You know I think he just didn't know what to say. He's not that good with words and all."

Pauline looked down at the baby. "Well… he must be good at something!" She laughed. "Sorry Louisa. I had to say that. You know, I am sorry that when you came back, I stood right over there." She pointed to the bar, "and I laughed at you behind your back. Poor thing. Could have been me. I mean up the duff and single."

I took back the baby and hugged him. "Pauline? It could have been anybody. These things… can happen." I kissed Philip's head and the smell of freshly washed baby filling my nose. "And you know, I wouldn't change a thing, if it meant I didn't have this little boy."

That must have struck a chord. Pauline leaned heavily on the table, just as the food came over.

"I ordered chicken salad. That ok?" I asked.

She looked from the wood table to the plate and then to me. "Guess I have to eat."

"Do. Tuck in. My treat."

Conversation lagged as we ate. I actually managed to finish before Philip wanted feeding. I pulled a wrap from the baby bag and settled it over my shoulder, covering the baby as he nursed.

Pauline chewed on a roll. "Gawd, Louisa. Look at you. You're a mum and all."

"Yes." I held up my left hand. "No ring though."

"Yeah, damn men," she responded.

"Oh? Why so down?"

Pauline put down the crust of roll she'd been gnawing on and leaned forward. "Look, Louisa. I'm not saying that men are bad and all that. Lord knows they are good for somethings. But… take Doc Ian. He's young, doesn't have one-tenth the experience that Doc Martin has but is all high and mighty, and your doc goes traipsin' back and forth to Truro."

"Well, Martin did quit the GP post. He was going to London after all."

Her eyes blazed. "Yes, and all set to get all snoggy with that Edith too! Right ready he was."

"No!" I lowered my voice. "Edith had all sorts of plans but _not_ Martin. I'd left Portwenn and he really wanted to get back to surgery. Me and this one showing up put a real crimp in those plans." I leaned close to her. "Edith Montgomery called Martin two weeks back and he told her off. Good and proper." I gulped and a tear streamed down my face. "The reason he's taken that job in Truro, one he thoroughly hates, is because of me and Philip."

Pauline touched my hand. "Louisa. Look. Al wants me to, well, he's been talking about kids and stuff. I'm not ready for that. Not yet. I've lived my whole life in this village, but I want to get out."

"What will you do?" I winded Philip and switched sides, getting him latched on took a bit but we managed. "I mean, what do _you_ want to do?"

Pauline looked straight out the window for a few seconds. "The Doc, I mean Doc Martin, needed me to do all the blood work. And I did. Drew it, packed it off to the laboratory or test center, got the results, and put them into the records. He trusted me. The first time I had a real medical job, and I don't mean the veterinarian either. We was a team, you know."

"And now?"

She breathed deeply. "Doc Ian just lets me watch, if that. He handles all that stuff. Won't even let me tough the syringes, the packages, nothin'. He does all of it."

"Oh."

"And I'm sitting at the same dreary desk, looking at empty chairs, retyping every single patient record into a brand new database. I'm going Bodmin even thinking about it." She leaned over to me and her voice got quiet. "So I've been asking around. Made inquiries. I got this in the mail." Pauline opened her purse and pulled out a much creased envelope. "Seems I'm able to qualify for a PCT training-up course as a full time phlebotomist. All I have to do is accept."

"Pauline, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!" I saw her face crumple up. "Oh… no."

"Look Louisa, I do want kids someday, and to get married, and have a home. But first… I need to do this for me. Not for Al, as much as I do love the guy. But he can be so daft. I saw him looking at the calendar the other day. He says 'Paul, in ten weeks it'll be your birthday. What you want as a gift?'"

"Er, I take it he has ideas."

She shook her head. "Yeah. He's either figuring out how he can afford a wedding ring or trying to get me preggers, so I'll stay in Portwenn!" She drank off the rest of her tea. "Someday, I'll be ready for that but now, well… I have to get back to that bloody job!"

I pulled Philip free, covered up and got his wind out. "You need to do what you need to do."

"Yeah." She rubbed Philip's back. "Someday I'll have a couple of these, you know, but I want to be more than my mum; more than just Pauline who worked at the surgery once." She laughed. "I want to be me. The real me. I'm smart; just not educated. And I'm gotten really tired of hearing Bert say 'go with the flow.' I will swim upstream or even sideways, whatever I need to do! But I won't be washed along the path everyone expects me to take!"

I stood up with her and hugged her. "Promise me that you will be true to yourself - to Pauline Lamb? Right?"

"Yes. Damn straight. I promise." Pauline picked up her purse. "And another thing. There's somethin' amiss with Doc Ian. Sometimes he seems spaced out, other times all hyper. Odd."

"Almost like…"

"Yeah." She looked me square in the eye. "Gone Bodmin. And there's this woman who keeps calling the surgery and Ian won't take her calls. Oh!" she looked at her watch. "Got to run."

"Woman? Who is she? Does she leave a name?"

"I don't have a name. She won't say. But she says that Ian knows her and right well too!" Pauline laughed. "He _must_ be going Bodmin to ignore her. She sounds very nice to me!"

Pauline left me to pay for lunch and a lot of things to consider as well.


	32. Chapter 32

Unsaid Things

The baby slept most of the afternoon and I did too. Trudging downhill and up time and time again took a lot out of me. We both deserved a rest but my belly still needed to work off some kilos. Whilst I slept my subconscious must have been mulling over the things I'd heard from Pauline and Al and the others too. There were lots of conflicting issues out there. Friendship, work, lovers… it would take some time to sort it and my dreams were muddled.

Dinner was well on the way when Martin called me. I just thrown a cloth over the table I'd borrowed from Mrs. Green next door, until we could buy a new one.

"Louisa!" his voice boomed from my mobile, "I'm around thirty minutes away. Shall we consider eating out?"

Strangely when we lived apart and were trying to date, Martin was frequently, no almost always, not calling if he was to be late. But lately, he was more considerate. Maybe he was changing, if only a little.

"I've just put the potatoes in the oven, and the fish is next."

"Oh. I just thought you might like a break, is all." He cleared his throat. "I'm not working tomorrow; perhaps we could go out then?"

"Eat out? Good idea. I'll see if I can find someone to watch Philip."

"Fine."

"And Martin? I had quite a talk with Pauline over lunch. She told me she hates her job, loved it when she worked for you, and she'll be leaving for a phlebotomy course."

"Pauline Lamb? My Pauline? The woman who foot dragged and mucked up my schedule every day? She said she loved it?"

"Well, not quite love… but far better than working for Doctor Exley. Told me you were a team."

"A team? Damn! Who knew?" he paused a bit. "Might have made it… better if she'd said that when I was the GP. Hm… the things we don't say. Well, see you soon. Bye."

He'd no clue the regard Pauline held for him. I hugged Philip and kissed his head, as he played with my hair. Not a real grasp yet, but he was trying. "Philip," I said to my son, "don't let the things you don't say be more meaningful than the ones you do. Ok?'

He just gurgled and smiled a little at that.

Fifteen minutes later I heard a knock on the door. Why would Martin knock? He must have flown down the road. I opened it to see PC Cacia Ranee stood there in mufti. She looked far more relaxed out of uniform, but there was worry around her eyes.

"Miss Glasson, hello!" she began. "I was nearby and thought I might have a chat with Doctor Ellingham. If he's in?"

I was bouncing the baby as he'd started a fuss. "PC Ranee, of course. He should be back shortly. Please come in." I closed the door behind her. "A bit out of your way from Wadebridge isn't it?"

"Please call me Cacia, if you would." She looked around. "I love your cottage," she said as she looked over my shoulder, saying, "Oh you have a terrace as well! Very nice."

"I do like this cottage," I began, "but you didn't answer my question, Cacia. And call me Louisa. 'Miss Glasson' makes me think I back at school and the students have been naughty."

"No. I didn't answer, Louisa." Her lovely dark eyes got moist. "Perhaps I could wait to answer that one for a bit."

"Alright." I smelled something getting hot in the cooker. "Here, take him please." I dashed to the appliance and opening the oven found a potato touching the side, getting quite burnt. I scraped it off the metal and threw it in the bin.

"Throwing food away?" Cacia laughed. "My mum would have had a fit if she saw you do that!"

"Well, I hate the waste, but no one wants to eat burned potato. Do they?"

She frowned at me over Philip's fuzzy head. "Not if you have other food."

"I suppose not."

Cacia sighed. "When I was little, we didn't have very much." She paused. "We ate what we had, when we had it."

"I see. Can I offer you a coffee or tea?"

"Tea, would be lovely, but don't let me be a bother."

"No bother, at all." I watched as she walked around the room, touching the furniture, finally stopping at the terrace door.

She bounced the baby as she walked finally stopping when she faced the glass. "Carl said he always enjoyed the sea. He told me the radio station had a little window in the room where he worked that faced it. He'd always get a sort-of dreamy look when he spoke of those days. How he could sit at the computer and see the ocean every day. And even if it was foggy or rainy, that he could still _hear_ it." Cacia sighed and hugged Philip.

I took a long look at Cacia Ranee, police constable, friend of Carl James the motorcyclist killed on the road. This was not exactly a social visit. More of a social counseling visit, I thought. I've had plenty of parents or students sit in front of my desk and go through the very same motions as Cacia. She was beating about the bush.

Kettle filled I returned and took the baby from her. "Here. No need for you to cart him about. Please sit."

"I don't mind," she said as she sat on the sofa and her face grew sad. "I like children. Carl did too."

"Oh, Cacia. I am sorry." I hugged her.

"I told you and Doctor Ellingham that I was his friend. More than just mates, you know?"

I nodded. "You were?"

"Yes. Not living together, but when he tried to tell his father he had a Jamaican girlfriend, he exploded. So no nice little family sit-downs from that quarter. My mum is long gone, but my brothers and cousins, they all liked Carl."

I patted her arm. "I didn't know him very long, but I remember him as a very nice man."

"Yes." A faint smile came to her lips. "I liked him too."

We sat in companionable silence until Martin arrive, and came inside all in a rush, "Louisa!" he started, "there are a huge number of flowers out there at the crash site." He grew wary as he saw we were not alone.

"Martin, we have a guest. You remember, PC Ranee from Wadebridge, don't you?" I warned him. "She wants to speak to you."

"Yes, PC Ranee, I do recall. Is this a medical problem? I'm not the GP in Portwenn anymore, you know."

She looked up at Martin just as the kettle started to whistle.

I jumped up. "Let me get that. Perhaps you should have this talk in private."

Cacia frowned. "No, Louisa. You stay."

"Then I'll just get the tea things."

When I returned Martin was reciting the facts of the crash. What he'd seen, when, how, who, and so forth. Cacia Ranee sat there rigid while asking short questions. Her questions were very technical – how far apart were the vehicles, how fast was the motorcycle going, how far did it go into the field, and so on.

I put the tray down and played mother.

Cacia took plenty of milk and sugar. "Bit of a sweet tooth," she said as she sipped her tea. "Nice, thank you."

I could tell from Martin's expression he'd really rather not be here sipping tea with a policewoman, and the fact that I was mediating the affair probably was the only thing keeping him in check. But before he could explode into little bits, I opened the floor for comments. "So, Cacia, you were telling me that you and Carl James were close. Close friends. Very."

That brought Martin alert. His mouth gaped open and then it slowly closed. "Why did you want to see me, then? I've told the police all I know and the coroner rendered a verdict."

Cacia Ranee looked away for a moment then back to Martin. "When you were tending to him… at the crash, or in the ambulance, did you… hear him say … uhm… anything?" She sniffled then looked at the floor.

Martin turned to me and I was gob smacked. What was she asking for?

But the good Doctor somehow knew what to say. He squared his shoulders and looked straight at her. "Miss Ranee, Cacia… yes there was."

"What? Tell me, please?" Tears started to seep down the poor woman's face. She looked up and Martin sat there with face hard, at first, but then it softened.

"Mr. James, that is, Carl, before the final cardiac collapse, well, my head was quite close to his face as we ended the first round of adrenaline. He'd rallied; pulse was good, blood pressure still iffy…"

Cacia reached across the gap and squeezed Martin's hand, just as I stretched out and put a hand on her shoulder, the three of us huddled together on sofa and a kitchen chair.

Martin licked his lips sucked in a great lungful and spoke. "Cacia, he spoke of you. He, uh… said he… loved you - told me to tell you."

That's when the sobs started. Softly then louder and louder, Cacia cried, her dark face totally sopping with tears. A box of tissues went quickly along with them. As she grew quiet over the next few minutes, Martin and I cradled the poor woman as she grieved.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said at last when the flood stopped. "But he never said that. Did he?"

Martin squirmed. "Why yes, he did - whispered it."

She started shaking her head. "Why didn't you tell me at the station then?"

Martin opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish. "I was embarrassed. Wrong, uhm… environment… the station, I mean."

Cacia looked deeply at him. "Well, I can dream that Carl said that, can't I?"

"It's true." Martin held her hand. "Miss Ranee, Cacia, he _did_. He _did say it!"_

She stood and looked down at Martin. "Thank you, anyway." Cacia looked to me next. "Louisa, thank you for the tea. And thanks for letting me talk to the Doctor." She dashed to the door, with Martin and me in her wake. She took the doorknob and stood there briefly. "You know, his family wouldn't permit to be at the graveside service?" Cacia made great sigh. "And I am the one taking all the flowers." The door opened and she was gone.

"She didn't believe you," I said.

"No. Obvious."

"Martin, did Carl say that?"

"What do you think?"

"Not certain."

"Louisa, are you saying I lied?"

"No," I looked at his almost stern face. "But I think you're a softie underneath."

"Possibly," he answered. He kissed my cheek and walked upstairs just as I smelled the fish burning.


	33. Chapter 33

Eating Out

Dinner was a total write off. In spite of Cacia's notions about wasting food, Martin and I scraped the burned fish onto a plate, and then he carried the charred mess to the outside wheelie bin.

He came back as I was sorting through the fridge to see what we could eat. "Martin, a salad and potatoes? Doesn't seem like a proper dinner. Take away, perhaps?"

"No. Bugger it! Grab Philip and let's go to The Crab or even Large's."

"Ok. But we've not really taken the baby out on a dinner yet and…"

Martin marched to the door, grabbed the baby bag, and wheeled the pram about. "Pick up our son and your purse and let's go!"

Totally flummoxed by his spontaneity, what could I do but comply? The Crab was closer and busy, but some fishermen saw us coming in, so they drank off their beers and stood. "Doc Martin! Louisa! Here!"

At a table smelling faintly of slopped beer and cod on greasy plates we sat.

Mrs. Ellis, Judy's mum, came over. "Let me clear this away." She whisked the dishes off, produced a rag and wiped the table down as I settled Philip into his baby carrier. "Oh, he is dear!" went on Mrs. Ellis. "You two made a fine little un'! You just get your orders in and I'll hustle that lazy sod in the kitchen to be right quick. I remember how it is with a baby in a pub."

I shouted to Martin over the noise. "I heard that her daughter, Judy, might be available to watch the baby when I go back to work!"

"Judy Ellis?" He wrinkled his nose. "We'll see." He looked at the sign behind the bar. "Tell me what you want to eat."

"Oh, maybe some chicken, and a salad? And water."

"What, no fish?"

"The stink of burned fish is still with me."

"Yes." He left and went to the bar to order.

Martin came back and I asked him about his day at hospital in Truro.

"I pointed out that there was duplication of reporting on some labs, that the GI staff was always late with their reports yet the Psychiatry service was always on time. Curious." He tapped the table. "Seems very obvious to me that they could correct these things, if they work at it."

"Meaning?"

"Nothing really. Oh, and Chris Parsons came by and asked if you might want to come in to Truro with me some day and have dinner with him and his wife after work."

"That would be nice," I said. "How are things going then?"

"That's what I asked Parsons. I told him that these things I was picking up on seemed apparent. He laughed and said that's why he hired me. He said 'what was obvious to Ellingham was murky to others.' Quite odd."

I beamed at him and patted his hand. "You don't know your own strengths, do you?"

"I wouldn't put it that way," Martin said.

A figure blocked the light. "I would." Ian Exley loomed over the table holding a pint.

Martin stood. "Have you eaten?"

"Just finished," Exley answered. He drank some beer. "Can I talk a minute?"

"Yes. Sit."

Ian sat and he seemed uncomfortable. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair a bit askew, quite unlike other appearances. "How's the baby?" he asked.

"Oh, he's fine. Hasn't kept us up at night for a while."

"Oh, he will; they do that." His breath smelled of beer and something else – something organic.

Martin tugged at Ian's sleeve. "You clearly didn't want to talk about Philip."

"No." Ian thumped his pint onto the wood. "It's about Kendra's hand. She _will_ need a skin graft. They'll be shipping her off to Falmouth to their burn unit there."

"Burn unit?" I was amazed. "But it was ice!"

Martin spoke. "Louisa, the damage from freezing is very similar at the tissue level to burning."

"Yes. That's just how the dermatologist put it," said Exley. "They'll perform the procedure next week and then she'll need rehab for a few months."

Martin touched his sleeve. "Doctor Exley, do we really want to be discussing this out of surgery? Public place… not appropriate."

Exley shrugged Martin off and drank more beer. "Right. But YOU always are right, aren't YOU?"

Martin rocked back in his chair. "No need to be rude, Exley. Stop it."

"That's really funny, Ellingham. YOU telling me that I AM RUDE!"

I butted in and kept my voice low. "Doctor Exley, really! Can't you keep your voice down? Honestly."

That stopped him for a moment, but just for a few seconds. "Oh?" he turned bloodshot and dark eyes to me. "Keep my voice down? ME?" He stood up and whistled – a shrill noise that cut through the chatter which slowed and stopped. Not a sound, just a bit of clinking from the kitchen, was present then even that stopped as a curious face peeped through the service window.

"Listen up all you Portwenn tossers!" He started. "This MAN, your GREAT DOCTOR ELLINGHAM is RIGHT ONCE MORE! AMAZING - FOOKING AMAZING!" He slammed his glass onto the table. "And _his girl_ here, Miss Louisa Glasson," more sarcasm dripped from his voice, "has encouraged my secretary Pauline Lamb to quit my surgery. Like that!" he snapped his fingers.

Martin rose and his face was terrible to see. "Ian! You may abuse me as much as you like, but I shall not let you treat Louisa like this!"

Ian turned and faced Martin. "Oh, really?" He poked Martin in the shoulder with his right index finger. "And just what will you do about it, Mister High Lord Doctor? Eh?" He poked him again.

The silence in the pub was so solid it held the rest of us rigidly.

"Listen Ian!" Martin hissed. "I was treated like this by bullies for many years and from them I learnt a few things." Martin struck out with his right hand, grabbed Ian by the thumb and twisted it. He cranked his arm further and Ian fell to his knees, mouth open in soundless agony.

Martin bent and put his mouth to Ian's ear, but I could hear the words. "You're drunk or something! Now leave and go sleep it off." He let his thumb go, took his jacket by the shoulders and pulled him up. "Get out, before I call Penhale!" He said fiercely.

Ian Exley stood there with a beaten look in his eyes. He slowly looked around the room filled with patients and now those who never would be. "Alright." His eyes dropped to mine. "Sorry, Miss Glasson. Been a bit off lately."

Martin stood there rigidly with a sneer on his face. "Go sleep it off, for God's sake Ian!" he whispered.

Exley took two steps and stopped. 'To sleep, perchance to dream – aye that's the rub,'" he said. "If only I could. Sorry all." He staggered outside.

"Are you ok?" Martin asked me, as the pub returned to animated and embarrassed conversation.

"Yes. Are you?" I touched the baby, who'd slept through Ian's tirade.

"Of course," he shot his cuffs and tugged at his suit jacket, "but there's something very wrong with that young man."

"Do you know what it is?"

Martin looked through the door at Exley's retreating back. "Perhaps. That is, I have a theory."

"Oh? Care to share it with your _girl_?"

He gave me a sharp look. "Later - not here. Did you notice his eyes were dilated greatly? Almost no iris at all – just as before."


	34. Chapter 34

An Idea

We finished an abbreviated dinner and left, all the while fending off comments by other customers who had seen the dispute. Most ran the gamut of 'Good for you, Doc!', 'He's got some cheek to try and tear you down, Doc!', and 'Doc Martin - who knew you could take that little sod down?'

With each comment I cringed, as I don't like conflict, having experienced far too much of it in my life. With each approach Martin sat there tight lipped and uncomfortable.

His responses were curt; along the lines of "Thanks" and "Remarkable."

Mrs. Ellis returned time and again to check on us. She stood there with the condiment tray in one hand and a water pitcher in the other. "So much for a quiet dinner out, you two."

"Yes, well," started Martin, "more water please?"

Water splashed into his glass. "You know," our waitress said, "Judy is home tonight if you wanted to have her watch the baby for a little while, so you two could have some peace and quiet. If you're interested just go up to the house and knock. I'm sure she won't mind. Soon enough, Miss G, you'll be back at work, you know!"

"That's an idea. Thank you." I'd like a little time with Martin, just me.

She beamed at us. "And Doc, Billy says dinner is on the house. Because of the uhm… if he'd known Exley could get so tipsy, he'd have cut him off!" She left.

Martin pursed his lips. "Care for a walk?"

"Yes. Philip probably needs a feed too."

We left the Crab, loaded Philip into his pram and set off. Although it was late, the roofers were still messing about on the school roof, a carry van parked nearby. There was pounding and cursing from up above our heads.

I yelled up to the roof. "This is Louisa Glasson, the school's head teacher. Anything amiss?"

A capped head appeared above and looked over the edge. "Hullo there! No! Just been working on these flashings. We think we can get them tightened down tonight. Just a little longer!"

"Be careful for heaven's sake!"

"Always!" the head went away and the hammering started again.

Martin and I continued up hill past the cottage to one of the benches along the cliff edge. The sea was calm, and the light was fading.

Martin stood there inhaling great lungfuls of air. "Nice tonight."

I looked down at Philip who was having his dinner, or maybe it was the fifth meal today. Hard to say. "Yes. Martin about the uhm… the pub thing. What was all that about?"

He sat down next to me and held Philip's foot, just as the Portwenn girl pack passed us to a bevy of 'oohs', 'ahas', and smooching noises.

Martin curled his lip as they passed. "Must those girls always be so, so, so…" he looked at me, "girlish?"

I laughed. "You and Peter Cronk! You never will understand teasing, will you?"

"No," he sighed.

"And they are girls, in case you haven't noticed."

"Obviously, but I didn't need medical school to figure that out."

"Oh, Martin." I jiggled the baby as I winded him. "You've figured out a lot of the important parts, though."

"Perhaps." He sighed again. "Maybe the… physical… side… not the mental."

I contrived a hurt tone. "Martin Ellingham, are you saying I am mental?"

"No, Louisa, you are not. I may be, but you are not."

"You're mental then. Bodmin?"

"Yes, I must be. Partially. But as for Exley…"

"How about explaining things for me? For _your_ _girl_?"

Martin gave me a hug. "I think I should check on Exley. He didn't seem very stable tonight."

"Mentally or physically?"

"Both." He kissed my cheek. "Won't be long."

"Alright." I watched as he walked away and I got an idea.

Judy Ellis opened her mum's door at the third knock. "Miss Glasson, nice to see you! And this is little Philip. Oh, he is so sweet!"

Judy was around twenty years old, had dark hair, and tall. She was dressed in tank top, jeans, and floppy sandals. I noticed a small diamond ring on her left hand. "Are there congratulations to be offered?"

Judy held her hand out so the light caught it. "Yes. Davey proposed last month and bought this with his signup bonus. It's small, but I like it."

"I'm very happy for you!" I hugged her slender frame.

"I'm just so glad that we finally got together! Back and forth. I think when he started Marine training the separation made him realize we couldn't be apart."

I rubbed my naked left hand. I knew the feeling, but things turned out different for me and Martin. "Hang on to him, Judy."

She smiled at me. "Oh, I will! And we love each other so much, too. I can't believe my so-called friends are telling people I'm up the duff. Can't two people get married because of love?"

"Well," I dug a toe into the pavement, "I'd hope so!"

"So, Miss G, what's going on? Come in, please."

"I heard you might be looking for work as a nanny, just during the day of course. Then we saw your mum at the pub, and she suggested I might try you out for a little while. Tonight even?"

Judy smiled. "Yah, I could do that. Just watching telly. I was watching repeats of _Reggie Perrin_, and I've seen them a million times. Can I hold him?"

"Course." Philip was sleepy from nursing but he didn't mind too much being handed off. "I've got nappies and extra milk, if you should need it. The bottle is here in this insulated pocket." I showed her the various baby things in the bag.

Just held him expertly. "Oh, he's about as big as Mrs. Tompkins nephews. I've watched them a time or time. Twins as well. Now that is a real juggling act."

"Yes." I looked at Judy and she clearly knew what she was doing. Philip cuddled up against her and it made my heart break. So young and fickle already, like most men. Dashing off to the first new and soft creature they see. "Well, Martin had to go see about something and I thought I'd go check up on him. Could you watch him here about thirty minutes or so? I'll pay you of course."

"Oh, Louisa! Sure. Sure, you go on." She got a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Will a half hour be long enough? I mean…"

She made me blush. If only. "No, I just have to go up to the surgery!"

Judy frowned. "But Doc Exley is never open this late!"

"I think Ian Exley might need my assistance. Bye!"


	35. Chapter 35

Arrivals

As I approached the Portwenn surgery my heart rose into my throat. Would I find Ian and Martin screaming at each other? Would they be staring one another down like two American cowboys in the center of a dusty Western town, hands twitching above six-shooters? Or conversely, be sitting there calmly discussing the latest methods of intra-aural lavage for removal of impacted earwax?

This was Portwenn after all, where we had man-sized invisible squirrels, a precocious schoolboy who played doctor and was usually right, a plumber - philosopher, and a former GP/surgeon who was afraid of blood. Anything was possible. We even had a head mistress who didn't know her own heart very well.

As I climbed the steps from the street, I expected to hear screaming and shouting, the crashing of crockery or the thumping of bodies as two men pummeled one another. The front door was closed and locked but the side door into the kitchen was propped open. I did not expect to see what I saw as I came around the corner and my sight fell into the green painted kitchen.

Ian Exley drooped at the table with a stricken look on his face, hands over mouth. The kitchen was filthy with a stack of food crusted pots in the sink and the bin was overflowing, with a stench of rotten food. Hard to equate this mess with the confident and well dressed doctor of just three weeks ago.

Martin stood and didn't look much happier than Ian, who looked up when I stopped in the doorway. "Ah, Louisa. Come in. Is that alright, Ian?"

"Yes," a muffled voice came from the younger doctor. "Doesn't matter anyway."

"It might." Martin waved me inside. "Close the door."

I did and turned from one doc to the other. "Ian?" I crossed to the table and sat opposite him. "What can we do for you? What's happened?" I asked quietly. Somehow my teacher-self exerted itself and I went into head-mistress mode.

Ian looked up at me with red rimmed eyes and huge pupils. "Don't know." He rubbed his face. "Don't know what I should do, let alone that I should tell anyone what to do."

"Did Pauline quit today? Sorry about that." I asked.

"Yes. She gave notice this afternoon! And as for what I said… at the pub… please…" he started.

"Ian, just let that go! I'm not upset," I said soothingly. "Forgotten."

"Well you should be upset! What I said, was inexcusable. And I've made a total balls-up of this whole Portwenn post." He sighed. "Martin, maybe you should…."

Martin looked sharply at me then began to speak. "Ian. I noticed over the last three weeks your behavior seemed to be inconsistent. At times well adjusted and other times you seemed quite depressed and erratic. Do you agree with my assessment?"

The younger doc rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Yes. I think you've hit it spot on. Can't get much past you. I didn't exactly want to come out here."

"Oh, really?" started Martin sarcastically. "Pretty damn obvious, that although your credentials, and I have checked them, seemed quite good, your performance here was less than par. Even accounting for the uhm…" Martin gave me a quick glance, "adjustments necessary for a doctor from London to adapt to Portwenn. You were off."

"Yes off," Ian agreed. "Bodmin as they say?"

"Bodmin. Quite Bodmin. But the question is why, Ian? Twice I've seen you at close quarters – at Louisa's cottage and again at the pub. Each time the most striking feature was extremely dilated pupils. I assumed that you'd not be foolish enough to be playing about with mood enhancing drugs, at least not on purpose. But there was something else…"

"Oh? Going to psychoanalyze me now, Ellingham? Haven't you done enough to ruin me?" Ian snarled.

"No," Martin answered stiffly.

"No? You bastard!"

"No, Exley. Not _psychoanalyze_ you. But I will _diagnose_ you. Another finding was that each time I detected an organic, almost weedy smell on your breath." Martin rubbed his jaw. "Now what could be causing that?"

Ian looked at Martin with half hate and half admiration on his face. "You're so smart. You figure it out."

"Louisa, didn't you mention to me that when you spoke to Pauline, she said that there was some sort of odd phone calls to the surgery? Calls that Ian would not take?"

"Yes, I did say that. Pauline said it was a woman that knew Ian." I recalled.

"Yes," said Martin. "Ian, you yourself mentioned there was _someone_, behind you. A patient… uhm, a friend?"

Ian lifted his eyes from staring at the floor. "Yes, both."

"So! Here is what I believe has happened. You took this GP job for a number of reasons. One, likely the primary one, was that you were leaving this someone behind. You were escaping from them."

"Escape," whispered Ian. "Yes that is a good word. The correct word."

Martin continued. "Then you arrive at the small and insular village of Portwenn, hard on the heels of the former doctor; one with… a bit more… uhm, experience… than you."

"A bit? Yes a whole hell of a lot more. Why you… can just smell a patient… and tell…"

"So you are a new doctor, younger, from the city, with your own ways. You reorganize the records, do all the blood work yourself, just as Pauline Lamb is considering leaving anyway. All this giving her further dissatisfaction."

"High marks, Ellingham! What else can you deduce?" Ian now had some fire in him, but it was not pretty. "Go ahead, you can figure the whole thing out."

"Yes. I shall. This slovenly kitchen is just one example of what's happened here. Alone, in this new place, no friends, the patients staying away…"

"I tried, really I tried! I did! Drank with the fisher folk, talked to the grocer, even that paranoid PC Penhale, sat right in that surgery and listened to that plumber discourse about all sorts of things; did all that. Just could not get inside people. They stayed away in droves." Ian banged the table. "What was I to do? Then the hand thing made it all worse!"

Martin looked down at the younger doc. "New place and you got depressed. Not sleeping well. You said tonight you weren't sleeping at all. All symptoms of depression. So you started to do something about it, didn't you?"

Ian shot to his feet. "The lady in the herb shop in Wadebridge said it was all natural! Really!"

Martin started scanning the counter top, strode to the sink and grabbed a small bottle. "These?"

"Yes, those!"

"What are they Martin?" I asked.

"Griffonia seed extract!" he shouted. "Trying to get your serotonin levels up?" Martin slammed the bottle onto the table top. "Ian! For God's sake you are a doctor. A man of science and medicine! I can't believe you would try these… these…"

"It's a supplement, Ellingham. It's to help me sleep!" Ian said defensively.

Martin towered over Ian. "Does it work? Well?" He sneered and looked around the filthy room. "Doesn't help the depression either, does it?" Martin scooped up the bottle and made to fling it towards to the bin.

Ian grabbed Martin's bottle filled hand. "Ellingham! I need those!"

"Why! So you can damage your eyesight further! Stupid fool! This stuff in high doses can decrease the serotonin levels in your brain and damage your eyes, due to the constant mydriasis!" He pulled his hand free and shook the bottle in Ian's face, who flinched with every shake.

"Martin, the my-what-sis?" I asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Mydriasis – dilation of the pupils – in this case chemically caused. It's like this Louisa, and this is something that Ian should know very well. Depression can cause insomnia. One of the causative factors of sleeplessness can be a decrease of a chemical called serotonin. This chemical is both created naturally in the brain and can also come from drug treatment. A common drug would be 5-HTP or L-tryptophan, which is then converted in the body into serotonin, and may help. Herbal supplements, such as an extract from these seeds from West Africa, may help as well. But in high dosages, such as Ian's, it makes the pupils dilate unnaturally and can also lead to more insomnia!"

Ian stood there stunned. "I suppose, I might have been over doing it." He slumped back onto a chair. "I'm done then. I can't do anything right, can I?"

"No!" I said, "You're not done! Look Ian, how much of your lack of self esteem might be due to insomnia and depression?"

Martin answered for him. "Some; lots likely."

I put my hands on my hips and looked hard at him. "Look here, Ian Exley!" the head-mistress was now in full mode, "don't you think I got down when I was in London, pregnant besides? Didn't I weep my share of tears? Every day? I got over it. You will too, with treatment if necessary!"

Martin started in surprise. "Louisa? You wept?"

I sighed. "Yes, Martin, I did. More days than I can remember."

"Ah," Martin wrinkled his brow. "And now?"

"Not so much."

We stood there; he looking at me and me looking at him. Martin's eyes were wide with tenderness, with the pathetic figure of Ian Exley slumped in a chair between us. Martin stretched out his hand and I extended mine.

"Louisa, I… didn't know…" he started.

"Now you do." I rubbed his fingers, which shifted into a firm grip on mine. "Looks like truth arrived at last for us, Martin."

"Yes," he started to say, just as there was a knock at the kitchen door.

The three of us looked towards it, and I could see a figure through the frosted glass.

Ian stumbled up and took the door knob in hand. He twisted and pulled the door open and a young blonde woman around my height stood there. She was very pretty with deep blue eyes, and was dressed in a blue flowered print dress with a white sweater across her shoulders. She was wearing open toed sandals and there was a wheeled case at her side.

"Sandy?" Ian shouted.

"Ian!" the woman shrieked and took hold of Ian, pulling him into an impassioned embrace.

"Martin?" I whispered. "She's uh…"

"Yes," he answered me softly, "looks to me to be about six months pregnant."


	36. Chapter 36

Heart Ache

I tried to shoo Martin out the door, so Ian and his friend could have privacy but he stood rooted to the spot. "Come on, Martin, time for us to go," I whispered. "They need time alone."

The woman broke off the lip lock she had on Doctor Exley. "Well! Ian, I can tell that you missed me!"

"Sandy! You have no idea, and… and…" Ian started, "and you're…"

"Pregnant?" The woman looked down and then put a hand on her pregnant belly, which was pushed hard against Ian's hip. "Yes. Glad you noticed. It's yours. Ours."

I gasped, hearing an eerie echo of mine and Martin's words. I turned to the father of my son and saw his eyes grow moist.

"Louisa, we should go," Martin said quietly. "Come."

"Well, Ian, we'll be off then," I said. ""Nice to erh, meet you!" I said cheerily as Martin tugged at my arm.

Ian Exley stood there with this beautiful creature wrapped around him, impending fatherhood only weeks away. His mouth gaped open, but words started to babble out. "Sandy, I uh, why… didn't you call me? Let me know… for God's sake? And I've missed you terribly! It's been awful here without you!"

"You stupid git, I tried! You wouldn't answer the phone – didn't take my calls. I didn't want to tell you by email!" She paused and rubbed his cheek. "And I've missed you too. Too much heart ache."

Ian buried his face in her shoulder and sobbed. "Sorry, I'm sorry!" More kisses and hugs followed. They broke their embrace and Ian looked at her. "My god, Sandy, you're beautiful!" He touched her stomach. "Kicking? Is that?"

"Yes!" she held his hand in place. "Feel it?"

"Yes. Boy or girl?" Ian asked her.

"I don't know. Healthy though. Told the doc I didn't want to know. So surprise!" She went back to hugging and kissing and Ian was helping.

I chewed my lip. "Well," I cleared my throat. "We should go. Bye!"

She turned her pretty face to us, and I saw tears on her cheeks. "I'm Sandy. Sandra Hawes." She stuck out a hand.

We awkwardly shook her hand in turn. "I'm Louisa and this is Martin." I said. "Glasson and Ellingham, respectively."

"Oh, are you a couple?" she asked brightly.

"Yes… erh, no..." started Martin, but he looked down at me. "Yes, we are!"

"Well we're living together, sort of," I added. "We're parents, too."

Ian hesitantly put an arm about Sandy. "It's complicated," he told her. "Their son is almost two months old."

Sandy turned to face Ian. "Almost like us, then?"

Ian took her face in his hands and kissed her. "No. Not like us. I will explain, later."

Martin cleared his throat. "We'll be off then. Come Louisa." He took my hand and dragged me out the kitchen door.

"Bye!" I said to the door which slammed shut behind us. I looked at Martin in the dusk and his face was solemn. "Martin, are you ok?"

"What just happened in there, Louisa? Did she… was that… erh, almost… like us?"

"No, Martin. As near as I can figure, Ian fled London, and it's pretty obvious that he and Sandy were a couple at one time; she… didn't know she was pregnant, when they broke up. So she had to do something, come here, and face him."

Martin stood at my shoulder looking into the cottage. "They're kissing again."

I craned my neck to see them. "Yes, they are." I took his hand in mine. "See, not like us. Not then, when… I came back."

"Yes, you did come back didn't you?" Martin said and I could his eyes shining. "Every time, every time…"

"Every time, what?"

He faced me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Every time, I, erh… drove you away. You came back."

"Well, it seems to me, Doctor Ellingham that you tried very hard to drive me away and keep me far away. All the nasty things you said when I came back…" I stopped and looked through the window. Ian turned and seeing us there, reached out and snapped the curtains closed. I glanced away then back to Martin's face. "Yet here we are."

"Yes. Here we are." He sighed. "Now what?"

I gave him a giant hug and kissed him deeply. "Maybe Ian and Sandy can teach us a thing or two?"

"Yes," he grinned wolfishly. "Maybe we need to take notes?"

That made me laugh. "I don't think reading an entire book would help us Martin." I sighed. "But perhaps we just need to try harder." I patted his face and he rubbed my back. "Let's go home."

"Louisa! Where have you left Philip?" he asked sharply.

"He's with Judy Ellis. I'm sure he's fine. Come on, Martin, let's go."

"Yes. Well I'm certain you're correct. He's fine."

We walked around the front of the cottage and Martin looked up at it. He said, "You have no idea how much I miss this place – the surgery. Heart ache."

I could only pat his back in reply.

We'd not taken more than a few steps in the street when the cottage front door flew open and Ian Exley rushed out. "Martin! Doc Martin! There's an emergency at the school! Someone's fallen off the roof! I need your help!"


	37. Chapter 37

Calamity

Martin looked sharply at Ian. "You have first aid supplies? Mine are depleted, but I can get my case…"

"I'll bring what I have!" shouted Ian, "I'll, erh," he looked at Sandy, who stood expectantly in the doorway, "we'll meet you there!"

"I'll get your case from the cottage, Martin! Meet you there!" I started to dash away and found Martin keeping pace.

"Let's not run, Louisa," he panted. "Just a steady pace to the scene. It will do no good if the attending doctor, erh, doctors, are too out of breath to help!"

I slowed my pace slightly to a half trot. "So, how do you think you'll get on with Ian in this situation?"

"We'll see," he sneered. "He should be capable. Ought to be!"

"Oh Martin! Can't you give the man at least half a break? You can be _so_ _hard_ on people at times."

"Yeah. I suppose. But my criticism is deserved, usually." He looked up hill as we crossed the Platt, the flat space at the harbour, then and headed uphill. "Ah! There's Penhale's police Rover on scene."

"Martin, while I'm getting your case should I pick up anything else?"

"Sheets and blankets perhaps." He started to run when Penhale saw us and started to wave hurriedly. He ran ahead past the Post Office to the street side of the school. "And hurry, Louisa!" he shouted and sprinted the twenty-five yards ahead.

There was something hanging on the wrought iron fence, which divided the street from the side of the school building. Martin and Penhale conferred and started to move. I got to them and they were holding a man up, who was upside down with a leg caught on the head-high fence. A long wooden ladder lay on the ground, with several rungs broken off.

"Quick, Louisa! My case!" He shouted to me as I jogged past with various bits of me anatomy wobbling in disturbing ways. I got the front door open, picked up some sheets and two blankets from the linens, took the doctor bag in hand and ran back to them.

It was worse than I'd thought. The man on the fence, the one on the roof from earlier, had a leg impaled on the fence. "Oh, God! Martin, is he?" The victim was older, a cap flung to the ground dressed in a gray striped boiler suit. His arms hung below his head like a grisly scene from some horror movie.

"No, he's unconscious! One leg is caught, the other run through by this bloody fence! Your bloody fence!" Martin answered. "He also has a bruise on his face. Must have struck it on something."

"Doctor? How long can we let him hang there like this?" Joe asked.

Martin shook his head. "He'll be alright unless there are other injuries."

"Ah. Well, Doctor, the dynamic duo are back in action!" chuckled Penhale as if he was enjoying the situation.

Martin craned his head around. "We need more light!"

I had to look away then and wondered how Martin would deal with the gore I could see. It was enough to make _me_ feel nauseous. No telling how Martin would deal with it. I dropped the case and blankets and backed away.

Joe Penhale called to me. "Louisa, can you get into my vehicle and turn it so the lights are on the accident? The keys are in the ignition!"

I did as he asked, backing and turning, parking the Rover so it's headlights lit the scene. People were now starting to congregate as the bad news spread. Portwenn has had its share of accidents but this was bound to be seared into memory for years. As the Rover's lights swept across the side of the school building, I saw another crumpled figure inside the fence, half in and half out of one the window wells, where the school was depressed below street level.

"Martin!" I shouted, "There's another one! Inside the fence!"

Martin turned and I saw his face turn pale in the dim light. "Good God! Two?"

Ian Exley trotted up at this point and went into action. He dropped a medical bag and a duffle onto the ground. "I'll take that one! Louisa, can you open this gate?"

I swung a gate in the fence open and we got access to the second victim. It was a young man, in his thirties perhaps, and he was bleeding from the mouth, lying on his chest, one arm visible.

"We need to stabilize his neck, first! Need a neck brace of some sort."

"Shouldn't we leave him for the ambulance crew?"

"No." He checked a pulse. "Thready and slow – probably shock." He rummage in his duffle. "Need to roll him over, but I'm afraid to move him! What can we use for a neck brace?"

"I know the thing." I pulled my mobile from my purse and dialed. When a voice answered I said, "Mrs. Tishell! This is Louisa, up by the school! There's been a dreadful accident and we need a neck brace, perhaps two! Yes? Thanks!" I flipped the phone closed. "Three minutes. Sally Tishell is on the way."

"Good! This poor fellow is starting to rouse," he said.

The man on the ground was moaning, which rapidly rose into a scream. Ian tried to hold him in place, but he thrashed about onto his back.

"Oh my God! Look at his arm," I said. He'd been laying on it. The left arm was clearly broken with bloody bone poking through shredded skin.

"Martin!" yelled Ian. "I've got a compound forearm fracture over here!"

"Well, this one," answered Martin, "is thoroughly stuck! The bloody fence is right through his lower leg and is stuck between the tibia and fibula."

Just then Sally Tishell came bustling up. "Oh, dear!" she said. "Doctor Ellingham, I've brought several neck collars, bandages and surgical tape as well! Where do you want them?"

"Over here, Mrs. Tishell!" called Ian.

Mrs. Tishell stepped through the fence past where Joe and Martin were supporting the impaled victim. Sally dropped down next to me. "This is dreadful, Doctor Exley. What can I do?"

"Let's stabilize his head and neck, first." The man on the ground groaned and tried to fight us off. "You're under care!" Ian spoke sharply to the man. "You've had an accident!" He turned his attention to me and Sally. "We need to carefully put a collar on his neck, just as you are wearing, Mrs. Tishell. And we need to do it slowly and smoothly!"

Martin started yelling again. "We need tools! A bolt cutter and probably wrenches too! Louisa!" he went on, "Call Bert Large, would you?"

I dialed the restaurant and the suave voice of Bert Large answered. "Large Restaurant - where we serve the finest in Cornish delicacies! How may I help you? May I take a reservation request?"

"Bert! It's Louisa, up by the school! There's been a dreadful accident here on the street side. We need a large bolt cutter! Got one? Wrenches too! And bring Al as well!"

"Yes!" he must have turned his mouth from the phone but I could still hear him. "Al, drop everything! I don't care a fig about the dinners, boy, or the diners! The Doc needs us! Is the tool box still in the van? Yes? We're on the way, Louisa!" he rung off.

"Bert's on the way with tools, Martin!"

Martin looked at us through the fence. His face was somewhat pale.

"Martin! Are you doing ok?" I called.

"So far," he answered me then turned his head and vomited.

"Doc? Still the blood thing?" asked Joe Penhale. "I thought you were over that - the job in London and all that. How can you be a surgeon, if you keep doin' that?"

Martin half wiped his mouth on his shoulder. "Yeah. Still the blood thing. And no, no surgery – I'm staying here."

That made me turn and look at Martin. There he was holding his arms over his head, with red blood trickling down his suit coat and shirt - a real charnel house.

I could see Penhale nod his head in the half light. "Good for us, doc. Good for us!" he said.

Martin saw me looking at him and he smiled. What could I do? I smiled back.


	38. Chapter 38

Fireworks

Penhale looked over at the gathering crowd. "Hey you lot, there's help on the way! Two of you strong blokes get over here and help us! And clear out of the street! An ambulance _is_ on the way!"

Penhale might be a bit thick at times, but he does know a lot about public safety. I heard a motor race up the street and saw Bert's caravan nose into the crowd.

The horn beeped. "Make way!" Al Large yelled from the open window. "Let us through!"

The little red van has done duty as a plumber's truck, moving van, and food delivery vehicle. Bringing lifesaving tools was another on a long list. The doors flew open and Al and Bert emerged. Al, tall and skinny, quite unlike his heavy dad, shouldered through the crowd.

"Come on people!" yelled Bert. "Move!" He got near the first victim, where Martin was now directing Penhale, Mr. Cross, and someone else in holding the man up. "Now, Doc! What we have here?"

"Bert, good!" answered Martin. "Two accident victims. Roofers. One here, and that's why we need those tools!"

"Right!" answered Bert. "Al! Get 'em!"

Al dashed away, and I saw Pauline Lamb and Sandy Hawes climb from the back of the caravan with Pauline helping Sandy to stand, her pregnant belly quite in the way. Then the two women pushed through the gathering crowd.

"All, right you lot!" yelled Pauline. "Get right back! Give them room! Doc Martin, how can I help?"

"Oh, Pauline, help Doctor Exley!" He turned as Al came back with tools. "Right! Al, can you start unbolting this section of fence?"

"I'll try, doc. Those bolts look might rusty, though. Salt air and all. We'll see." He bent to the tool box and pulled out a wrench. He put it onto a bolt head and tried to turn it on the ancient ironwork. "No good! Rusted solid. Dad, the cutters?"

Bert held up the largest set of bolt cutters I'd ever seen, just as Pauline came over to Ian, Sally and me.

"Doc?" asked Pauline. "What shall I do?"

"Help us get this arm splinted. We need a soft pad. Oh! Grab that blanket." He pointed to one I'd brought. ""Let's just stabilize the limb. Gauze on top of those bones."

Pauline grimaced but complied. Several gauze pads were laid on the broken bones, where blood seeped continuously. "Ugh. Poor guy. More tape here and here," she directed.

The patient was still moaning, but seemed to be in shock. Ian bent over his head with a flashlight examining pupils. "Pupils look ok. MARTIN! This one seems stable!"

"Check for heart sounds, then. Check for flail chest."

"Right!" Ian answered.

"Flail chest?" I asked.

"It's where ribs or the sternum is broken and are floating free. They can injure heart and lungs," shot back Pauline.

"You've been reading!" said a surprised Ian.

"Well, what did you expect me to do with all that free time, when you messed about with the blood samples? Twiddle my thumbs?" Pauline laughed. "I've got almost through the entire _Emergency Medicine Handbook_, you know!"

"Well, that's handy" interjected Mrs. Tishell. "Any sign of a neck trauma? This collar isn't that firm."

Ian shook his head. "Haven't checked yet."

"Bert or Al, you two got any gaffer's tape?" asked Sally.

Bert and Al were struggling with the bolt cutters, Martin assisting, trying to cut through the fence.

Bert answered. "Tape? Right - a couple rolls. In the van!"

"I'll get it," yelled Sandy Hawes and she trotted away.

"Seems a good sort, Ian," I said. "I think you'll make a good team."

"Yes, she is," he answered. He looked brightly at me. "Just like you and Martin, you know."

I know I blushed. "But we're not that… good... together." I managed to get out.

Sally nudged me. "Oh, Louisa! She's just joking, doctor. This village wouldn't be the same without them!" she sniffed. "They're right good - together." She sniffed again. "These allergies are terrible."

I patted her shoulder as an awkward thanks.

Then Sandy clumsily stepped inside the fence and handed us a roll of tape. "One roll, all I can find in the jumble inside that thing."

Just then Martin started yelling. "No! NO! This is no good. We'll tear the poor man's leg off if we keep playing at this!"

Al shook his head. "Doc, this wrought iron is tough stuff, you know. And the cutters aren't that sharp. Hardly dent these bars!"

"Right!" Martin yelled louder. "Bert, you have a torch in the van? And a sledge or maul?"

"Why yes we do. That's it Al, get the other gear!" directed Bert. "What you thinking, Doc?"

Martin twisted his hair in thought. "We'll have to cut it right off."

"Ooh. God, Doc! His leg?"

"No, you twit! This bloody fence. Now get your torch going!"

"Sorry, Doc. You're right, of course. Albert, get moving!" this to Al who'd dragged back gas bottles and the torch.

"Where you want me to slice it, Doc?" Al asked.

"About here and here," Martin pointed to the fence at several bars. "That thing throw sparks?"

"A few," he answered. "We should shield the, uhm, guy…"

"Right! Louisa!" yelled Martin. "I've a special job for you!"

I stood and went out on the pavement, stepping over Ian and Sandy who crouched side by side. They looked like they belonged together as they wrapped the tape around the guy's head and neck, firmly anchoring all to the foam collar as an immoveable unit.

"Blanket!" directed Martin, "and water, several bottles!"

I whistled shrilly as I stood holding the other blanket, which I'd left on the pavement. "I need water, two or three bottles! If you have them?"

Tourist hands extended holding plastic containers. I took them and turned to Martin. "Martin? Ready – for what not sure."

"Ok. Hold out the blanket."

I did and he doused it with water, splashing me in the process. "Sorry, Louisa. Now I need you to stand right here," he grabbed my shoulders and pushed me to a certain spot. "Now hold this blanket up, shielding this man from any sparks. Got it?"

"Ok. Bit of a hot job." I replied.

"Yes." He looked hard at me. "You'll do."

I could only answer, "Thanks."

"Good girl, erh, woman, erh…"

"Just get on with it Martin!" I shook my head at the good doctor.

"Ready when you are, Doc!" called Al, who had the torch aflame, dark goggles perched on his head.

"Right!" answered Martin. "Now LISTEN UP!" he yelled to the crowd. "We'll be cutting away the fence so we can extricate this man. There may be sparks thrown. They will be hot and may set things on fire. The bright light may also hurt eyes - so look away! Ready, Louisa?" he asked gently.

"Yes," I called. "How long will this take, Al?"

"Not long, Louisa," called out Bert. "Al's a dab hand with a torch, why he…"

"Later Bert," called Martin. "Let's go, Al!"

So I stood with my back to a bleeding, unconscious man, hung on a fence as steer at slaughter, holding a cold, sopping wet blanket, while sparks flew about past the edges of my vision like fireflies.

I turned my head slightly to see Martin, glancing at the scene, as he stole glances at the cutting process and keeping an eye on me. "You alright, Louisa? Everyone?"

A chorus of affirmative answers came out.

I could feel hot things landing on my feet and legs and bouncing off. That is, most did. "Martin! I'm getting a few burns from time to time!"

"Almost done, Louisa!" yelled Al from behind the torch. "One more bar to cut through!"

From the corner of my eye I saw Martin run away for a few moments then something wet and cold splashed on my feet. "You were on fire, Louisa!" he yelled. "Out now!"

"Thanks!" I replied, feeling something cold run down my legs. "Is that beer I smell?"

"Yes! All I could find!"

"Thanks every so much, Martin! Appreciate it!"

"Anytime!" came his reply.

Only in Portwenn.

I heard a little girl's voice saying, "Oh, look mummy! Fireworks! Do they do this every night here?"

Gawd I hoped not I thought and in the distance heard an approaching siren.


	39. Chapter 39

Mathematics

Doctor Ian Exley kissed Sandy Hawes again, patted her extended tummy and then climbed into the back of the ambulance next to the attendant and two patients on stretchers. I'd seen them speaking earnestly off to the side as Martin supervised the loading of the patients. There was a lot of hugging and kissing in that quarter and to be honest it made me jealous.

Ian and Sandy had absolutely no concern if we all, villagers and tourists both, saw them as they snogged. I sighed. Martin would barely hold my hand when we were engaged. And now he slept thirty feet away, in my cottage, seemingly happy enough with the arrangement. I'd lied when I told him I didn't cry anymore, but the doors were thick and solid, and running water hid the noise as I blubbered.

The driver swung the doors closed and locked them, and getting behind the wheel, the vehicle started with horn tooting to get people out of the way. They parted slowly as Penhale helped Bert and Al pick up the cutting torch, wrenches, and the general mess next to my school. The pavement and street were littered with debris.

Sandy Hawes, Ian's girlfriend, stood there wistfully watching the flashing lights as the ambulance pulled away. From her posture, her heart was going with the lights.

Mrs. Tishell went to her and took her arm. "Come on, my dear, I think you need some tea, or something stronger." She led her down hill to the B&B just past the general store. "And if you can't drink the hard stuff… well then I'll do it for you."

I stood there looking the scene over. The broken ladder lay where it fell, the splintered wood bearing testimony to David the janitor's fears. I sighed looking at the mess about the school. Well, just have to straighten up and muddle through.

"Louisa, sorry, about the fence," said Martin, "but we had no other way! Erh, I'm sure the council will pay to repair it. And there may be insurance monies from the roofing company."

"Will those workers be alright, do you think?"

"The impaled leg and concussion don't look that bad, although they seemed the worst. The other one, the shattered forearm, and Ian thinks a broken collar bone and cracked ribs, plus concussion is a bit more serious." He sighed. "Lucky for them it wasn't worse."

"Bad enough, though." I hugged him. "You alright?"

"Yeah." He brushed at blood on his shirt. "Another suit ruined though."

I patted his broad chest. "You've plenty more."

"Yes. Have to bin this one."

"We will sort it. Martin, another busy night out! You sure know how to show a girl a good time!"

He laughed then - actually laughed. "Nothing but the best for _my girl_!" he chuckled sardonically. "We'll have to do this again some time. We had a lovely dinner conversation…"

"Followed by fireworks." I brushed at the burn marks on my trousers.

Martin looked down at my sodden legs. "Burns ok? I should examine them… to… make sure they don't need treatment… medically."

I could only laugh at him. "Well, if you insist. But don't you think we should…"

Martin's mobile buzzed. "Sorry." He pulled it from his pocket and answered. "Ellingham! Yes. I can hear you quite well, Exley. What's that? You can't be serious! Wait! No!" He snapped the cover shut. "He rung off."

"What did he want, Martin. What did he say?"

"Nothing. Just, uhm…telling me…" he glanced away then back to me. "It will keep. Have to see…"

"Martin, Ian didn't just call to pass the time of day, did he?"

"Yes."

"Martin Ellingham! You're lying to me!"

"No, not… a lie." He cleared his throat. "I'd better… get my things."

I shook my head as he walked away. Infuriating man. But there was something I was forgetting. Something important. God! Philip!

"Martin!" I called. "I'd better get the baby. Judy's probably ready to hand him off by now!" And I was getting internal signals that he should have a feed, that is I was ready for him to nurse. Ouch. "Bert and Al. Don't worry about the mess. I can get this cleaned up tomorrow."

"Louisa, best that we get this street washed down," answered Penhale. "It was a real mess, weren't it? Bert you got some bleach at the restaurant?"

"Gallons of the stuff, Joe. Al, go get some cleaning supplies so we can get this all sanitized! Hop to it boy!"

"Dad! I'm twenty six! I'm no boy."

"Ha- ha! Very funny, son." Bert took a long look at his offspring. "Yes, Al, son then. Please get the bleach, if you would, then."

Joe looked at me. "See Louisa, what you'll have to contend with some day?" He laughed. "Your little Philip, he'll be giving you guff. But that's natural." He bent and picked up a broken piece of ladder. "Now you go get your son - your little boy. We'll put this to rights."

Pauline spoke up then. "Yeah, Louisa, and then maybe you want to meet all of us at the Lamb Pub? All this rescuing makes a body thirsty!"

Al Large hung his head a moment. "Might be a good time, Pauline for you to explain where you're off to. Seems everyone but me really knows what's up."

"Oh, Al," she threw her arms around him. "Honey. You know I have to get this schoolin'. It's for me – and us too – down the road!" She planted a kiss on his mouth. There was another kiss in my eyesight. I turned and looked at Martin, who seemed to be uncomfortable as Pauline and Al snogged away.

I turned my back. It was too much to bear. "I'll get Philip then."

Martin stood there frozen as I stalked off. To be honest I couldn't really say why I got so mad.

Little Philip was sound asleep when I got to Judy's. She held a finger in front of her lips as she opened the door for me. "He's good as gold, this one. I think he feels real easy with me."

"Did he take the milk? He's not too keen to take a bottle from me, but Martin can manage it."

"Yes, he's a good drinker," Judy answered. "You think maybe I can help you, when school starts? I been looking for work… things are a bit tight…"

I looked at her eager face. "I'm sure we can work things out. What say we meet for lunch soon? Discuss details."

"That would be great! Oh Louisa, is it _yes_ then?"

"Yes, Judy. We'll get on."

Judy jumped up and down. "Swell!"

Philip didn't stir when I carted him home, but he roused a bit when I took him upstairs changed him and then he was ready to nurse. I stripped off my ruined trousers scrubbed quickly then started to feed the baby. He'd finished and I settled him in his cot when Martin came in and staggered upstairs.

"Alright, Louisa?"

"Yes just getting Philip settled."

"How are your legs?"

"A bit touchy."

"Let me see them."

"Not until you get clean. That suit…"

He looked at the ruined clothing. "Yes. I'll just… clean up then."

He left the room and I heard the shower start. I must have dozed off then. I heard the door open as Martin called my name.

"Louisa? Your legs. I've come to, erh… check them."

"Oh, yes. Sorry I was asleep."

He crossed to the bed, where I was propped up on pillows. "I'll just… erh, you'll have to pull up the pyjama legs."

"Ok. Here."

He adjusted the bedside lamp. "Hm… a little blister here, another over here. May I?"

"Yes. Touch away."

He looked at the blisters. "Not too bad. A little ointment and a plaster on this one." He worked on. "There. Fixed. Anything else?"

Now what could I say? I did the only thing I could and changed the subject. "Martin, you have to tell me what Ian told you on the phone. Be straight with me."

Martin slumped then sat on the bed. I moved my legs to make room. He looked very uncertain. "Louisa, he said, that… he and Sandy, that is…"

"Come on Martin. It must be important."

"Yes, I think so. Ahem… Ian told me that he was moving back to London to be with Sandy. She has a very good job there in broadcasting and he thinks he can get his old spot back in the practice there. Said that he wasn't cut out to be a solo doctor, at least not in Portwenn. Perhaps someday, he said."

"Oh." My hand flew to my mouth. "You mean he's quitting?"

"Yes. In fact as we cleaned up the street by the school, he'd already called Chris Parsons, described the situation. His official statement is 'personal reasons.'"

"Well with a pregnant girlfriend and a baby on the way… seems to reason, doesn't it?" My eyes grew moist as the past year rushed back to me. "Maybe he does have some sense then?"

Martin stood up, smoothed the wrinkles from the blanket. "Yes, a very intelligent young man, about certain things." He looked down at me. "Goodnight then," he said then walked towards the door.

I felt the blood rush into my face and my pulse started to pound. "Martin! Stop!"

He turned open mouthed. "Something wrong?"

I looked at Doctor Martin Ellingham, and I didn't care just then about the past, only the future. "Seems to me that that we've gone about this all wrong, Martin. And by God I aim to set it right, once and for all!"

I scrabbled across the bed and grabbed his hand. "Martin, I don't care, just don't care about Edith, or our failed engagement, my running off to London, then dashing back to Portwenn. I hope that you can forgive me for all the drama…"

"No, Louisa, don't…"

"Just shut up, Martin! No words. Let me speak, for once."

He nodded in the half light. "Ok."

"And all the misunderstandings. Ok?"

Martin nodded, opened his mouth then closed it. His eyes were large and his face looked worried.

I went on. "And every bloody night you are down the hall, thirty feet away from me, in earshot but out of reach! The last time we tried this it went all wrong! Maybe we both were Bodmin, I don't know. But I know this one thing – right now – right here..."

"Yes?"

I took a deep breath and took the leap. "Maybe the last time was too fast, maybe we just didn't give each other a chance! Maybe…"

"Louisa, don't! Just…"

"Shut up! Let me say this…" I breathed again and went over the edge. "Martin Ellingham, I want you body and soul! I can't live without you…. so Martin Ellingham, will you marry me?"

His face crumpled. "Louisa, Louisa!" he plunged into my arms. "I didn't think you cared… didn't love… me… any more…" then the tears started for both of us. "We were wrong, God! Both!"

I planted my mouth on his and it was like the past year faded like fog in the sunlight. It was like coming home – to a real home.

After quite a lot of snogging he came up for air. "Louisa, I've never stopped loving you. And all the rudeness, I just didn't know how to say… things… that we, no I was wrong… and that I… need you! I love you!"

"So… will you answer my question?"

He looked aghast. "My God! Yes! Yes, I will marry you!"

I just melted in his arms and he in mine. Later in the dark, he lay holding my hand. It was like we'd never parted, so sweet, this feeling. "Awake?" I asked.

"Yes. Busy night." He sighed. "I guess I'd better get a fulltime job."

I sighed. "That would be really nice." I let my fingers run down his side. "Can't be much fun driving to Truro… wait a minute. What did Chris Parsons say when he called you?"

"Not much."

"Oh."

"Just that the GP job in Portwenn is available and it was mine if I wanted it. I told him yes."

"Oh Martin!" then I did cry again.

Will our lives be perfect? Probably not, but what is? I know one thing for certain – that Martin and I are fated to be together, as husband and wife.

The Fates may have tried to trip us up time and again but our paths were so intertwined that we are together anyway. And somehow in our case the mathematics does make sense – that one plus one equals a whole lot more than just two - it equals three - Martin, me, and our lovely little boy Philip.

The End

**Thanks to all the loyal Doc Martin fans who've been reading this tale, which took on a life of its own somehow. **

**A big thank you goes to **_**ggo85**_**, my partner in FF crime for ideas, comments, and support and to **_**fanficfan71**_** who wouldn't take no for an answer. **

**Plus thanks to all of you who love and appreciate the Portwenn universe in all of its various forms on and off the small screen and religiously have been reading along and been making insightful and helpful comments.**

**Thanks to all again! **

**Cheers, Rob**


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